


The Snake

by RinHaruismyOTP



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dreams, F/M, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Mystery, POV Alternating, Romance, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Snakes, but who knows?, no smut planned as of yet, now a little cheeky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2018-08-09 01:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 26,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7781584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RinHaruismyOTP/pseuds/RinHaruismyOTP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There was-” Harry cut off, picking up clothes off the messy floor and peering underneath. “There was a snake!”</p><p> </p><p>Harry finds himself with a nighttime visitor of the scaly kind, with no idea as to why, or how.<br/>Draco is interested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> So this was going to be a one-shot, but about halfway through this chapter I decided it would be better as chaptered (I think???)
> 
> I have no idea what's going on, I got an idea, know roughly what's going to happen.
> 
> So I hope you enjoy??

The first time it happened, Harry yelled out loud in shock. Ron had instantly flung up from his bed, arms poised to attack, blinking his eyes open, and the rest of the boys in the dormitory had groaned at the disturbance before turning over and going back to sleep. Harry himself had scrambled out of bed and was scanning the room with his eyes, alert.

Ron, upon seeing no intruder, yawned. “What is it mate? Bad dream?” He stretched his arms above his head and the sound of his shoulder clicking was audible throughout the room.

“There was-” Harry cut off, picking up clothes off the messy floor and peering underneath. “There was a snake!”

“A snake?” Ron’s eyes widened and he glanced around before shaking his head and calming. “There’s no snake, Harry. It was just a dream.”

Harry looked uncertain, but settled a little, straightening up. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah you’re probably right.”

Ron patted his arm. “It’s understandable, mate. After last year-” he cut himself off. “It’s understandable.” He cast a glance at the clock and sighed. “Come on. We can still get a few more hours sleep.”

Harry quickly fell back into his doze.

 

The second time, he manged to control himself, emitting only the tiniest squeak at the sight of creature at the end of his bed. He shuffled back, pulling his wand out from under his pillow hesitantly. But the snake didn’t move, making only the faintest of hissing and staring at his with unblinking silver eyes. The rest of its body was black, bar the flickering red tongue. It reached at most two feet in length and an inch thick.

Harry hadn’t had good experiences with snakes, for the most part. True, the boa constrictor at the zoo the Dursleys had reluctantly taken him to on Dudley’s eleventh birthday had been friendly enough, and he’d always had more of an affinity with the beasts than others due to his abilities as a parselmouth, but Nagini, the basilisk, and the general connection of snakes and Voldemort had made him a lot more wary of the creatures. Besides, his parseltongue had died with the horcrux inside him.

Suffice to say, Harry was more than a little suspicious at the appearance of the snake. He was sure now also that this was not a dream: he’d pinched himself to be certain. The snake had appeared twice now, it couldn’t be a coincidence it had come to him. Had it been commanded to him? To bite him in his sleep? Or was it an animagus? Was he not as alone as he’d thought?

He was more inclined towards the second idea. If nothing else, it explained the silver eyes, and the way they burnt with intelligence. Harry considered the snake a little longer, heart pounding somewhat, before casting a revealing charm half expecting to find a person on the end of his bed by the end of it. Instead, to Harry’s surprise, the outlines of the snake dripped away, followed by the rest, into an ink-like substance that dropped off the bed and seeped to the door, disappearing under and out of the dormitory.

Harry blinked, heart settling but wide eyed.

 

The third, fourth, fifth and sixth times such an occurrence happened – each separated by between a few days and a week – Harry had tried talking to the creature, banishing it, touching it – hell, he’d even pretended he was still asleep once, to see if it would do anything. But the snake would just stare, and then melt away into ink – irritatingly before he’d managed to touch it each time. He’d almost given up.

“Maybe it just likes you,” Ron suggested one time as they walked down to breakfast. He’d tried staying up with him a couple of times, and each time the snake had not come, and on the occasion that it did Harry had turned excitedly to point it out to Ron only to realise he’d fallen asleep.

“It’s got to be a spell of some sort,” said Hermione, frowning and ignoring her boyfriend completely, which Harry found kind of unfair, given how he was starting to feel inclined to think in the same direction. “I just can’t find anything out about it. And you’re _sure_ it’s not a dream?” she added, and Harry sighed.

“Yes, ‘Mione, I’m sure,” he replied for what he estimated was the twenty-second time. He remained proud of himself for not yet shouting it, though his temper had somewhat improved since Voldemort’s defeat.

A portrait slammed shut behind them, and they all turned their heads to see Malfoy coming out. His head was down as he shook dust off his robes, and when he looked up he started, clearing his throat and looking away again. He paused only briefly and brushed past them down the stairs. Ron snorted. “Now there’s a snake if I ever saw one,” he said, and Harry smiled a little, but Hermione slapped him on the arm.

“House unity, Ronald,” she hissed, and Ron winced at the use of his name. “Comments such as those are exactly why McGonagall despairs so much over house relations.”

“But it’s _Malfoy_ ,” Ron protested, and Hermione glared at him. He held up his hands in surrender. “All right, all right, I’ll try harder to be…” he gulped visibly. “ _Nicer_ to him.” He flashed Hermione a weak smile (more of a grimace) and Hermione beamed.

“Excellent,” she said, satisfied, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Ron blushed, and Harry rolled his eyes. His best friend was a lost cause when it came to denying Hermione anything anymore. He sighed at the sight of his friends staring into each other’s eyes dreamily and his own eyes wandered landing on the place from where Malfoy had just disappeared into the castle.

 

Malfoy had changed, Harry thought to himself later on that day, watching the man in question collect potions ingredients from the cupboard. He was quieter now, more subdued. Snide when addressed, sneering that very same sneer when eyes met, but he’d never start something anymore. He wasn’t offensive in his retaliation, limiting his insults to that of a person’s hair or clothes and the alike instead of their heritage or social standing. It had unnerved Harry at the beginning of the year, made him expect an attack at any moment, but as time went on it seemed more and more unlikely that Malfoy was plotting something, and as they now entered the last few weeks before Christmas, Harry had almost completely dropped his guard around him.

Although, now that he thought of it, maybe the snake that haunted him was _Malfoy_ ’s doing? Had he been right to be suspicious?

He shook his head free of the thought. It was stupid to assume it, and if he did Hermione would roll her eyes again and go on about his supposed _obsession_ with Malfoy, the one he passionately denied whenever talk of it arose. His eyes quickly returned to Malfoy, now reading the instructions for the love potion they were supposed to be brewing, which Slughorn had assured them would be kept under ‘constant supervision’ to prevent the incident of some being stolen for ‘nefarious purposes’. Harry watched him work, cutting roots to perfection, brushing them into his cauldron dismissive, stirring with such force Harry could see the muscles rippling beneath his robes…

“Are you even listening to me, Harry?”

Harry’s head shot up, turning to Hermione. “Yes,” he lied, and Hermione sighed.

“Liar,” she said, and Harry scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

“Ah, sorry. I’m just preoccupied.”

Hermione looked at him pityingly. “I’m not surprised,” she said. “You must be getting about half the sleep you need at the moment, and the snake’s a big enough conundrum that anyone would be distracted by it.”

Harry nodded and didn’t mention it was not the snake that had distracted him at all.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for kudos and comments!! Keep 'em coming!!

Draco knew bad dreams.

As a child, he’d had nightmares of upsetting his father. He would dream of the anger, of the disappointment, of cruel words and demands that he be _better_. He’d wake trembling, unable to fall back asleep again. These dreams only increased when he arrived at Hogwarts and Granger, the _mudblood_ as he’d furiously thought of her, had beaten him in every subject.

After his father had gone to prison, the Dark Lord having returned, Draco had had nightmares on a nightly basis. Of his father, rotting away in Azkaban, of his mother being attacked in the backlash of hatred against their family, of the Dark Lord setting his sights on Draco, burning his mark onto his forearm. And then that last one came true, and Draco dreamt of the scorching pain and the glint in the Dark Lord’s eye as he claimed Draco’s soul.

From then on his nightmares followed the basis of his family’s destruction, the Dark Lord’s victory, Nagini slithering through his home, and Potter’s inevitable defeat.

It had come, such a defeat, and Draco remembered the utter horror he had felt consume him at the sight of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, dead in the half-giant’s arms. He had felt sick to his stomach, scared, alone, aware of what the Dark Lord’s victory would bring. The death, the torture, the destruction. Hell on Earth. He remembered thinking that it was hope: hope was what had caused him to feel this low, even when he’d thought he had none.

When Potter had stood up, Draco had cursed the hope that returned to him.

Draco knew bad dreams.

He was, however, something of a novice when it came to _good_ dreams. Or rather, not bad dreams, though one could put up an argument for watching Potter sleep every night being the worst dream he’d ever had due to sheer boredom.

Who was he kidding, really? Certainly not himself.

It was weird, sure, his mind conjuring up his ex-arch-nemesis sleeping each night as he slept. Sure, if anyone knew he’d never live it down, but it was unbelievably calming. He supposed it was the false knowledge the dream provided him with that the _Chosen One_ lived and slept peacefully, safely, that put his mind at ease. That there were no battles to be fought, for once, that his father had cooled his anger after the war and accepted his sentence graciously, that the threat that had hung over his head for _years_ was vanquished.

Sometimes, more recently, Potter would wake, in the dream. He would watch him, or talk, or occasionally cast a spell that would shock Draco into waking. When he went back to sleep he would dream of nothing at all.

It had started when they’d arrived back at Hogwarts, only a thin wall separating his dormitory from Potter’s in the eighth year dormitory (or seventh year take two, as the Hufflepuffs had dubbed it). The first night back Draco had settled into his dorm, shared with Blaise, Greg, Terry Boot, Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner, the last thing he had heard before he had heard before he had succumbed to sleep was the sound of Potter and his dorm mates laughing uproariously at something Finnegan (Draco guessed it was Finnegan, unless any of the other members of the dorm had suddenly developed a strong Irish lilt) had said. Draco had ‘awoken’ at the end of Potter’s bed, watching as he breathed deeply in and out as he slumbered. He’d been almost alarmed at how much of the lingering tension he’d felt was soothed there and then, a strange sense of calm overcoming him. When he’d blinked his eyes open to the living in the morning, he’d smiled at Blaise without thinking, and had laughed at the undisguised shock in the boy’s eyes. He’d been glad when following that, he’d managed to start repairing the broken down relations between himself and Blaise at breakfast, and in Transfiguration had sat beside Pansy before she could object. When McGonagall had started them practicing on their own, he did the same with Pansy. He certainly did not, when Pansy started crying, tear up too.

Certainly not. (“Malfoys don’t cry,” he had snivelled, and “Draco you _liar_ ,” Pansy had laughed.)

 

It was a few weeks before Christmas when Draco started noticing Potter staring at him. Or, to be more accurate, Blaise had noticed, nudged him on the arm and said, “Think you’ve got yourself an admirer,” jerking his head towards where Potter sat beside Granger, who seemed to be doing all of their joint potion herself. Draco briefly met Potter’s eye, who blushed when he realised he’d been caught and rushed to help Granger.

Draco shrugged. “He’s just staring into space,” he determined, and turned back to his cauldron only to be disturbed a few minutes by Blaise insisting “He’s doing it _again_.” He sighed. “Leave him be. He’s probably just got nothing else to do, being Granger’s partner and all.”

Blaise pouted. “You’re no fun,” he said, turning to put the frog brain into their potion, and Draco grimaced at the loud popping sound.

Largely, Draco tried to ignore the Saviour’s staring, but for the week that followed the Potions lesson he could feel Potter’s eyes on him whenever they were in the same vicinity, drilling a hole in the side of his head. Blaise continued to tease him about it and Pansy, hearing him at dinner one day had quickly risen to the challenge of narrating Potter’s movements with innuendoes. Whenever she started, Draco would groan and strike up – admittedly quite slow – conversation with Greg, and Pansy would giggle and say, “It’s just a _laugh_ , Draco. We don’t really think he’s got the hots for you,” and Draco would feel a pang that he tried really hard to ignore.

It was nearing the end of that week, whilst Draco turned over ideas in his mind as to how to ask Potter _what his problem was_ , when he realised that was just it. The Saviour had a _problem_ with him.

Irrationally angry, Draco stormed into his dorm that night, aware only Blaise was up there as the Ravenclaws were in the common room playing exploding snap and Greg was with Pansy in the library. “He thinks I’m _up_ to something,” he fumed, pacing round the room as Blaise stared up at him from where he was sprawled out on his bed, sending blue lights to the ceiling where they gathered like a cloud.

“What?” Blaise questioned tiredly.

“Potter,” Draco almost snarled. “He must think I’m plotting something disgustingly evil, some racially motivated conspiracy, the plot to end all plots as it were. He thinks I’m bloody scheming!”

“Where did you get that from?” asked Blaise.

Draco threw his arms up. “I don’t need to get it from anywhere! Of course that’s what he thinks, why else would he be tracking me all day every day, keeping an eye on my every mood? Merlin, I can’t believe I didn’t see it before! Dammit, bloody stupid Potter,” he growled, flopping down on his bed and staring at Blaise’s blue lights. Blaise sighed.

“Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. But you’re jumping to conclusions, Draco. I thought you were going to try talking to him?” he said, and Draco sneered.

“I don’t need to anymore,” he said, and that night he was still angry as he went to bed. He felt less than calm as he watched Dream-Potter sleep on peacefully.

In the morning, Potter was admitted to the hospital wing.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And back to Harry's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop am loving the comments!! Thank you everyone who has commented and left kudos!!

It was horrible.

Truly, disgustingly horrible. Small puncture marks littered the top of Harry’s arm, forming crescent shapes in blood, and the skin beneath was dark and an obnoxious shade of purple. He was sure it was swelling. Did swelling mean it would fall off? Would he have to lose his arm to stop the spread of the venom? Would he _die_?

He shouldn’t have returned to Hogwarts this year. Perhaps he should have visited America, or the Alps, or the Sahara Desert. Maybe he should have taken up Kingsley’s offer and taken up as an Auror Trainee, should have made something of his life before it was cut short by an agitated snake attempting to tear his arm off. Maybe-

“-ry? Harry!”

Harry swam back into focus at the sound of Hermione calling his name. He was in the hospital wing, sat up in one of the unreasonably soft beds with Hermione and Ron stood at his side. Seamus had come down with him and Ron after the attack, but Madam Pomfrey had long ago kicked him out for ‘ogling’. Hermione had arrived since.

Her arms were currently crossed over her chest. “Are you listening now?” she asked, sounding annoyed.

Harry gaped at her, thought about giving her a sarcastic answer and quickly decided against it. “Yes.”

“You’re going to be fine,” she assured, and Harry looked at her in disbelief.

“Fine? How on Earth do you know that? I could be about to lose my arm for all I know!” he said, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“What you are, Harry, is a hypochondriac. I wouldn’t have thought it, after all that’s happened to you over the years, but it’s true. You’re not going to lose your arm, the snake wasn’t even venomous,” she argued.

“How do you know that?” asked Ron, and Hermione fixed her holier-than-thou expression upon him instead. There was a silence, in which the unsaid _what don’t_ _I know?_ reverberated around the room, and then she sighed.

“Venomous snakes have fangs. There would be fang marks. The two rows of teeth marks is a definite give away that it’s non-venomous.” She began to tie her hair into a plait using a hairband on her wrist. “The worst you’ll get is an infection, and that’s nothing to worry about for magical people as Madam Pomfrey can easily prevent an infection from spreading, she’s setting that up now. The purple’s just where it’s bruised.”

Harry and Ron stared at her for a moment. “So…” said Harry. “That means my arm won’t fall off?”

“No,” said Hermione firmly. Harry looked down at his arm. The purple really wasn’t so bad, and on the second glance, it didn’t look like there was much swelling after all. He grinned sheepishly at Hermione and Ron put an arm around her waist.

“Do you know it’s very sexy when you say lots of clever things?” he said quietly, but unfortunately still loud enough for Harry to hear. He groaned lightly and pulled a pillow over his head, collapsing backwards onto the bed, but not before he was given the chance to see Hermione elbow Ron in the ribs and drag him in for a kiss.

 

Madam Pomfrey wanted to keep him in the hospital wing for the day for observation, to make sure the magic worked correctly and staved off infection, so Hermione and Ron waved goodbye ten minutes before the end of breakfast leaving Harry with his growling stomach and aching arm. He had been told to avoid eating for half a day because it would react badly with the potions used in his recovery, so he was only able to combat his hunger with the occasional sip of pumpkin juice. He was bored, too, seeing as neither Hermione nor Ron had a free period until after their lunch break, so while he got a brief respite talking to Neville for a few minutes during second period, he had very little else to keep him amused.

Until unexpected company arose during third period.

He had been picking at his nails absent-mindedly, undoing all his hard work over the past couple of weeks of not biting them, when the doors to the hospital wing opened and Draco Malfoy, panting and supported by Blaise Zabini, hobbled into the room. His hair was plastered to his face with sweat, and the sheen of it ran down the bare skin of his neck.

Harry licked his lips without thinking and then blinked, closing his mouth firmly.

 Zabini settled Malfoy down on the bed opposite Harry and Madam Pomfrey came shuffling over at the sight of a new patient. Their discussion was in low tones, so Harry didn’t manage to catch any of it and instead just watched. Zabini remained for the conversation, but then left once it was done, patting Malfoy on the shoulder and sauntering noiselessly out of the room. Pomfrey flitted around him for a little while, muttering spells and gathering potions to feed him, but left shortly afterward.

When they were alone, Pomfrey in her office, Harry started to wonder whether he was supposed to be making conversation. There was awkward silence in the air, and every so often their eyes would meet, and they’d quickly look away.

 _Screw it_ , Harry thought to himself. “What happened?” he asked, loud enough for Malfoy to hear him. Malfoy met his eye, held his gaze for a moment and then sighed.

“Potions. Blaise accidentally dropped in eye of newt too early and it exploded on me. My leg shrunk,” he explained, and Harry winced in sympathy. “Nothing Pomfrey can’t fix. Why do _you_ care?” he added harshly, and Harry was taken aback. Sure, they’d never been the best of friends, but he could see no reason for Malfoy to be acting so defensive around him – they’d stayed out of each other’s hair all year.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

 They fell back into silence. After a little while, Malfoy sighed once more. “So what about you?” he asked, sounding reluctant to ask.

“What?” Harry said, surprised.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, and Harry almost laughed at how much like Hermione he looked doing it. “Why are you here, Potter?”

Harry felt himself go red. “Oh, right,” he said. “I was bitten by a snake.”

Malfoy stared at him, interest dawning on his face. “ _Where_?” he asked breathlessly, seeming excited. Harry shook his head; how very Slytherin, getting excited by snake bites.

“On my arm,” he replied, gesturing, and was confused when Malfoy groaned.

“Not _where_ ’s the bite, idiot, _where_ was the snake?” he asked, and Harry went red again.

“Right. Er, in the dorm. While I was sleeping,” he answered, and Malfoy pulled a face.

“In the dorm? How’d a snake get into your dorm?” he asked, and Harry bit back the reply of _Well, Theodore Nott made it_ , as 1) he was quite unexpectedly fond of the sixth member of his dorm and 2) he was well aware that this was the longest conversation he’d had with Malfoy in the seven years plus they’d known each other without them fighting, and he knew the comment wouldn’t go down well. He was far too curious about Malfoy – no, it wasn’t an _obsession_ – to bring about the end of the conversation with a stupid remark.

He shrugged instead. “Dunno,” he said. “It keeps popping up.”

Malfoy looked incredulous. “‘Popping up’?” he repeated. “How does a snake ‘pop up’?”

Harry slid down to tie in his bed, suddenly tired. “You tell me,” he said. “I look for it but can never find it apart from when it appears at night.”

Malfoy stared at him for a while. “You know that’s kind of weird, Potter?”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, I know,” he told him, covering his eyes with his undamaged arm. It was then that Madam Pomfrey came back to check on him, bringing an efficient end to the conversation, and once she’d gone lunch had arrived and Ron, Hermione and Ginny bustled through the door with an overabundance of food and fresh anecdotes from transfiguration that morning, in which Seamus and Dean’s transfigured parrots refused to say anything other than swears.

By the time they had left, Malfoy had too.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a bugger to write. Sorry it's so short, and took so long!! Next update should be sooner :)
> 
> Thank you for the feedback so far!! Am loving it!!

Draco felt like an idiot. How could he not have realised it earlier?

“He’s trying to get close to me,” he said, pacing back and forth in the common room, thankfully only inhabited by Pansy, Blaise and a half asleep Greg. Every other step made his left leg sting a little, but other than that there seemed to be no lasting effects from the Leg Shrinking Incident (as dubbed by Blaise Zabini, the Leg Shrinker himself). “He’s trying to get close to me, to make me reveal my plot to him.” Draco shook his head, smiling a little. “What a stupid idiot. Like I’d fall for that.”

Blaise sighed from where he was sunk down on the sofa with Greg’s head on his shoulder. “Draco, you don’t _have_ a plot, remember? You literally can’t fall for it. There’s nothing for you to tell him.” Greg started to drool, and Blaise shoved him off his shoulder in disgust.

Draco stopped pacing, coming to a stop by the fire. “I know that,” he said, sighed, and sat down on the floor. “It’s just… irritating, you know? I’d thought he’d got past the whole ‘Malfoy’s up to something’ thing. We haven’t fought or anything all year. I haven’t goaded him, he hasn’t glared at me when I so much as speak and it’s been _calm_. And now this!” He threw up his hands in gesture and groaned, falling onto his back on the floor.

Pansy put her work to one side and slid onto the floor too, pulling his head into her lap and running her fingers though his hair. “It’s probably not as bad as you think,” she told him. “You’re probably wrong about him thinking you’re up to something.” She didn’t sound particularly convinced. Draco snorted.

“It’s not in Potter’s nature to keep his nose out of other people’s business,” he said. “He’s a nosy bugger.”

“An _attractive_ nosy bugger, though,” said Blaise, and Draco gave him a perplexed look.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Blaise shrugged. “It seemed relevant. You were talking about Potter a lot, and somehow ‘I find Potter attractive’ always seems to be the subtext whenever that happens. It’s your eyes I think. They shine as you speak.”

Draco opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, and Pansy looked thoughtful before nodding. “You know I think you’re right,” she said, and Draco spluttered.

“I don’t find Potter attractive! I mean, _objectively_ , he’s not _bad_ looking, but he’s such a twat that it ruins anything attractive about him! And have you seen that hair! It’s a sodding mess. Who would find that attractive?” Draco questioned, feeling heat rise to his cheeks in fervour.

“Me,” said Blaise.

“Me,” agreed Pansy.

Draco stared at them both. “Whatever,” he grumbled finally. “Weren’t we talking about something _other_ than the fact that everyone I know seems to be crazy in love with Potter?”

“I’m not,” piped up Greg.

“‘In love’ is stretching it,” said Blaise.

“That’s because, Greg, you are straighter than Pansy’s hair after she’s just straightened it,” Draco said, ignoring Blaise.

Pansy whistled. “That’s straight,” she remarked. Draco grinned a little at her, but was then distracted by the common room portrait (an illustration of a couple having a picnic who argued incessantly and were occasionally attacked by bees) swinging open to admit Goldstein, Corner, and a few seconds later Theodore Nott. The ex-Ravenclaws greeted them but made their way to the opposite end of the room whilst Theo took the chair Pansy had left. Draco frowned at the large bags under the other boy’s eyes.

“Tired, Theo?” Blaise asked, echoing Draco’s thoughts. Theo sighed and slumped down into the chair.

“Bloody Gryffindors,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Can’t believe I ended up in a dorm with five of them. Keep waking me up talking about bloody snakes. At first I thought they were trying to goad me or something, but no. They’re just obsessed or something. Then Trelawney decides that the best time for palm reading is five o’clock in the morning, that annoying harpy.” He sends them a pleading look. “Can I _please_ sleep on your floor tonight?”

But Draco’s brain is already in motion. What is it about this snake? Evidently Potter hadn’t been making that part up. Nagini had been admittedly horrible, but that was more because of its master than its identity as a serpent, and overall Draco _loved_ snakes. Stereotypical for a Slytherin maybe, but stereotypes existed for a reason. It was the main reason why he wasn’t as bothered as he knew many others were by not being able to remove the dark mark from his forearm – while it symbolised the most horrific part of his past and would always make him flinch, he had to admit to finding it beautiful. Or it would be, without that bloody skull.

“You can take my bed, I’ll take yours,” he told Nott, who looked at him in surprise. Draco grinned. “I want to see this snake myself.”

 

 


	5. Five

Try as he might, Harry was finding it increasingly difficult to deny his strange urge to talk to Draco Malfoy. Or, more accurately, to _get to know_ Draco Malfoy. To… be friends, maybe?

It was weird to think about, so he tried to spend as little time dwelling on it as possible. However, with little else to consider whilst stuck in the hospital wing this didn’t go very well, and he couldn’t get the idea to go away. They could stop the fighting for good, partake in cordial exchanges (Harry could think of no less snobby way to label a conversation with Malfoy) and perhaps take a big step in the direction of house unity, which Hermione and McGonagall kept banging on about. But it was more than that too; Harry wanted to know Malfoy properly, the boy verging on man who’s life he had saved, though only after almost having been the one to end it (a thought that still made him feel sick to the core), and who had saved his life too by hiding Harry’s identity back at Malfoy Manor. 

It wasn’t a sudden idea, but Harry wasn’t sure when the thought of properly knowing Malfoy had started to take root. Recently, perhaps, stemming from his heightened awareness of the other boy over the past few weeks? Since they’d arrived back at Hogwarts? Earlier than that, the Malfoy’s trial, maybe?

He didn’t know. But it all amounted to the same, really. It had started at some point, and now Harry was slowly becoming fixated with the idea of knowing Draco Malfoy.

When Madam Pomfrey eventually discharged him at quarter to six, Harry made it halfway to the common room before remembering Ron and Hermione had mentioned working in the library this evening. He considered carrying on to the common room, if only to get away from the nauseating flirting, but in the end came to the conclusion that he really couldn’t ignore his Charms essay for much longer so he made his way to join his friends.

Their heads were close together when he arrived, giggling and chatting with one complete and one incomplete essay on the table in front of them. He cleared his throat as he made his way over, not eager to overhear their conversation.

“Harry!” Ron greeted him, pulling up a seat which Harry gratefully took. “How’s the bite?”

Harry shrugged. “Barely there. Won’t get infected, and that’s the main thing.” He leant back in the chair, grabbing Ron’s textbook and flicking through it. “Either of you got a spare quill and parchment? Mine’s in the common room and I couldn’t be bothered to go and get it.”

At this, Ron guffawed and Harry sent him a questioning look. Hermione passed him her equipment, having finished with it herself. “Probably a good thing you didn’t go up there mate,” Ron said, and Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Why’s that?”

“Seamus and Dean were heading up there last I saw, getting pretty handsy.” He snickered. “We should probably stay clear for a while.”

Harry hesitated, shocked. “Seamus and Dean are… together?” Both his friends frowned in surprise.

“You didn’t know?” Hermione asked, and Harry shook his head. “They have been since the summer. Seamus was telling us the dramatic tale of how Dean confessed a couple of weeks ago at breakfast.” Her brows knitted. “Come to think of it, I think you were late up that morning, you probably missed it.”

Harry’s mind was reeling. Now he thought about it, though, it seemed obvious. Dean and Seamus had seemed a lot closer this year, and he could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen one without the other. “Oh,” he said. And hesitated. And then… “That’s… all right, for wizards?”

Ron and Hermione stared at him, Ron in confusion and Hermione in pity. “Oh _Harry_ ,” Hermione said. “I had wondered- Harry, being gay is fine. In the muggle world, even, it’s accepted, but more so in the wizarding world. Being gay is just how some people are.” She reached out and touched Harry’s hand, but Harry flinched away, looking down. This wasn’t… this wasn’t what he was used to. He was used to the Dursleys screaming at the television screen and making snide comments whenever a gay person was mentioned in a TV program or on the news. He was used to Dudley’s gang calling him _fag_ as an insult when they bullied him.

This was new.

“Oh,” he repeated. There was silence.

“Harry?” Hermione said finally, in a small voice.

“Yeah,” he replied, not looking up at her.

“Are you…” she trailed off. “Never mind,” she said, shaking her head. “Come on, I’ll help you with your charms.”

At this, Ron was knocked out of his daze. “You’ll what?” he asked, gaping. “You’ll help Harry but not your own boyfriend?”

Hermione smiled. “That’s right,” she beamed, and Ron mumbled to himself.

 

It was almost two hours later that the trio found their way up to the eighth year common room, Harry having been able to finish his Charms essay _and_ begin his Potions essay before dinner with Hermione’s help. The common room was crowded when they arrived, as was usual in the evenings. Harry got pulled into a game of exploding snap with Neville and Hannah Abbott and only managed to get away when his hair caught on fire, having dangled too close to the cards. He put it out with an _augamenti_ and was just deciding he should probably get a haircut, only now realising how long it’d become, when Blaise Zabini patted him on the shoulder.

“Don’t cut it, Golden Boy,” he said. “Makes you look like a sex god. Draco loves it.” He then wandered off in the direction of his dorm, and Harry stared after him, mouth hanging open. He felt himself blushing and laughed a little awkwardly. That had to be a joke, right? There was no way… there was just no way.

But Malfoy… was attractive. He hadn’t let himself admit it to himself until today, thinking such thoughts to be ‘sinful’, as Aunt Petunia used to put it. But god, Malfoy was gorgeous. Pale skin, blonde hair, a gaze that felt like it could see your soul, those cheekbones… Harry shook himself mentally. It was a _joke,_ nothing more. He cleared his throat and went to sit back down next to Ron.

Twenty or so minutes later Ron stood and stretched (clicking his back as he did). “I’m turning in,” he said, and Harry nodded.

“I’ll come with you,” he said, and followed him to the dorm. Ron reached the door first, opened it, and then quickly closed it again, turning around with wide eyes.

“What?” said Harry. “Seamus and Dean can’t _still_ be at it.” He felt a little awkward making the joke, but fought the butterflies in his stomach.

“Harry,” Ron hissed. “What is Malfoy doing in our dorm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the feedback so far - keep it coming!!


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's POV

It was immediately obvious entering Theo’s dorm which bed belonged to the Slytherin. For the most part, the dorm was obnoxiously red: the drapes, the walls, the lighting. It was garish and utterly Gryffindor, and quite honestly Draco felt queasy even being there. Theo’s bed stood out like a beacon, a comforting green that Draco gravitated towards as soon as he got over his shock at the colour.

He wondered how Theo stood it. The colour mostly, but also the godawful mess. He shivered at the thought of living in a room where you couldn’t see the floor like this one.

The mess also provided a lot of good hiding spots for small animals, so Draco immediately set about clearing it up, sure he’d be scarred by the number of _tergeo_ s required to clean the mess off the bed with the unmoving poster of some men kicking a ball on the wall above. Once satisfied the room was clean, and disappointed in the lack of slithering reptiles, he sat down on the edge of Theo’s bed and scanned the room. For lack of anything better to do, he tried to work out whose bed was whose.

Potter’s was easy to discern, the tail of his firebolt sticking out from underneath. Longbottom’s, he worked out, was the one with the remembrall on the nightstand; Thomas’ the one with the poster (Draco was pretty sure he’d heard him talk about some form of muggle sport before, so he assumed this must be it. It didn’t look very exciting to him). It was harder to decide between the last two, but he laughed when he saw the burgundy, lacy dress robes peeking out from the case beside one, marking it as Weasley’s. In his mind, Draco had the Yule Ball down as the only time he’d ever felt sorry for Weasley, watching him dance stiffly in badly fitting, old-fashioned dress robes whilst the girl he stared at the entire night danced with Viktor Krum. Not that he’d ever admit feeling anything other than pity and amusement.

He’d only brought a few things from his dorm, so he moved back on the bed and rested against the pillow, taking out his extra reading for Potions ( _Flewitt’s Guide to Eyeball Removal, Wing Severing and Much Much More! The harmless guide for budding Potioneers!)_ and immersing himself. A few pages in he had decided Richmond Flewitt was an idiot – everyone knew a mouse’s earwax couldn’t be collected on the full moon! He made himself a note to write to Mr Flewitt directly about the issue.

Fifty-four-and-a-half pages in, the door to the dorm opened then shut quickly. Draco looked round in surprise, catching a glimpse of orange hair before it closed completely. He groaned, not fully prepared to deal with annoying Gryffindors at the moment. It was almost four minutes later before the door swung open again, admitting Weasley and (Draco’s heart started beating faster, and he determinedly ignored it, refusing to think what that might mean) Potter close behind him. Weasley was glaring, and he sighed internally.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” Weasley demanded. “Going through our stuff? Cursing our beds? Stealing?”

Draco snorted. “As if I’d want to steal anything from _you_ , Weasel,” he said. “Even if I sold them I’d get less than a galleon.” Weasley grit his teeth and snarled, and this time Draco’s sigh was audible. “Relax. I’m not here to disturb your precious band of brave, brave Gryffindors, I’m just switching beds with Nott for the night. He needs sleep and you’re not giving it to him.” He looked at Potter, fidgeting in the background. “Also I want to see this snake,” he added, and Potter eyes finally met his. They really were very green.  

Weasley crossed his arms. “We don’t want you here,” he said, but Potter, breaking eye contact to look at Weasley.

“Ron he’s not going to hurt us or anything,” he said, and Draco smirked in triumph at Weasley’s betrayed expression. “Leave him be. If not for him then for Nott. Godric knows he needs it. Bloody Trelawny.” He muttered the last bit under his breath, and Draco nodded in agreement before realising he was agreeing with Potter and stopping the movement instantly.

“Fine,” Weasley grunted, and made his way over to his bed, eyes whipping round to watch Draco suspiciously every few seconds.

Over the next hour or so the other three boys trailed into the room. Draco tried to focus on his book, but found his gaze repeatedly drawn to a singular curled strand of hair hanging down in front of Potter’s eye.

His fingers itched.

His distracted gazing (no, staring, there was no _gaz_ ing) meant that he noticed how Potter tensed at the arrival of Finnegan and, a few minutes later, Thomas. When both of them greeted him, Potter’s response was a weak smile, not meeting their eyes and mumbling a weak ‘hello’. It was curious, but Draco was more interested in the second strand that had fallen down to join the first.

 

It was a couple more hours before the dorm members started spelling out their candles to go to sleep. Draco did the same before casting a small _lumos_ for himself and holding it up to his book, settling down to wait.

“What are you doing?” The question was unexpected, even more so the deafening snore that rose up a moment after, and Draco jumped, whipping his head round to see Potter watching him from his bed, drapes open like Draco’s own. Potter absent-mindedly cast a _silencio_ on Weasley’s bed and the snores subsided.

“Waiting for the snake, obviously,” Draco replied, glancing down at the floor around them.

Potter was quiet briefly before laughing. “You really do like snakes,” he said, which Draco couldn’t help but feel was pointing out the obvious.

“Evidently,” he said, rolling his eyes, and Potter looked sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. Draco felt his eyes widen as the lines of Potter’s bare arm muscles rolled as he did so. He gulped and tore his eyes away.

“Sorry,” Potter said, and there was another pause. “Good luck on your snake hunt, then, I suppose,” he said. “Night.” With that he pulled his drapes shut and Draco smothered the small wave of disappointment.

“Night,” he answered quietly to the empty space in front of him.

 

When he woke the next morning he couldn’t remember falling asleep, only that there had been no snake. He was pretty sure he remembered some kind of glow, too, but for the life of him couldn’t think what it was. His dream had been much like usual.

Weasley glared at him as they got dressed, but though perhaps not the most hospitable host, he hadn’t been as bad as Draco had expected. Because of Potter, he supposed. The night with five Gryffindors, even, hadn’t been too bad. Because of Potter. He groaned.

“Bloody Potter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support so far!! Keep the kudos and comments coming!!


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's POV, bit of mature content but not all that much

Harry wasn’t completely sure if the cause of his dream was his discussion with Ron and Hermione that evening, or Zabini’s offhand comment about his hair, or maybe Malfoy’s presence as he slept. Perhaps all three, perhaps something else, but whatever it was it made him calm and uncomfortable at the same time.

He dreamt of hands running through his hair, gentle and soft; long fingers twining between strands and stroking his head. They lowered, down his cheeks, barely touching and causing goosebumps to arise on his skin, then down farther, skating over his lips and to his neck where they massaged tenderly. His chest – bare, somehow, who cared how, this was a dream – became the next victim, and distantly he heard himself whimper at the disconnected feeling of excitement and pleasure inspired in him as that long index finger circled and pinched his nipple, the first harsh movement the hand had made.

He was watching through half-lidded eyes, too dazed and pleasured to open them fully, to drink in the sight of his partner. And yet, when he tried to work out their identity it was all too easy, the flash of platinum blonde hair immediately enlightening him.

He panicked, but it was muted, much like everything else, and it quickly faded. “Draco,” he murmured, and received a faint _shh_ in return, and a finger came to rest on his lips to match the order of silence. Harry groaned, his lips sensitive to Draco’s touch. He flicked to tongue out and pulled the finger into his mouth, laving and sucking without thinking about it, letting his eyes fall shut.

He felt and heard the mouth as his ear. “I’m here, Harry,” came the whisper, and Harry shuddered at the feeling of breath against his skin.

He opened his eyes to a bright light as he woke.

 

He’d left the dorm quickly when he woke, not wanting to encounter Malfoy before breakfast (at least, ideally it would be much longer before he had to see the other boy). Ron was grumpy that he hadn’t waited for them when he and Hermione joined him in the Great Hall, where Harry was picking at jam and toast. He didn’t feel like eating, in fact he felt ill. Hermione, rather more observant than her boyfriend, asked him if he was okay after he had responded to Ron’s yattering about the Chudley Cannons’ new beater with no more than a few half-hearted ‘yeah’s.

He let himself be persuaded by her insistence that he get checked out in the hospital wing, if only to get out of Potions with the literal man of his dreams (and not metaphorical – not at _all_ ). Unfortunately, Lady Luck seemed to have it in for him that particular day as Malfoy entered the hall as Harry left, and despite their eye contact lasting less than a second, in the aftermath his heart was thumping widely and he could feel blood run to his cheeks. His eyes darted to Malfoy’s hands, and the image and feeling of them caressing his body assaulted his senses.

He sped up his walk.

 

Madam Pomfrey declared him fine mere minutes after he’d arrived in the hospital wing, diagnostic spells flicking over him and proving him ailment free, though the matron did tell him a good night’s sleep would be beneficial, and Harry almost laughed, wondering how he was ever supposed to have such a thing with his mind so muddled over _sexuality_ and _sins_ and _Malfoy_ and _Malfoy’s fucking fingers_.

At one point in his life, not so long ago, he had thought he liked girls. That he was straight, and had nothing to stress over in that area of his life. He had thought he fancied Cho, and then Ginny, and yet…

There was nothing to those relationships, if the strange _thing_ he had experienced with Cho could even be called a relationship. He had thought they were pretty, but to be honest he hadn’t meshed well with Cho at all, and Ginny would always be more of a sister figure to him than anything else. He wasn’t _in_ love with her, he just loved her, and it had taken him longer than it had taken Ginny to work out the difference.

Her eyes had been determined when she had broken up with him, but her words soft. _“You don’t love me like that,”_ she had said, and it had left him bemused for a long time until he realised their relationship was exactly the same now as it was before they’d broken up, just with less kissing, which when he had thought about it had never felt as good as Ron described it with Hermione.

Being gay was more than plausible. He thought about that dream, the feelings, the excitement, how just the barest touch of fingers from Malfoy of all people did more to him than anything ever had with Ginny or Cho. It had felt… right.

And now he was never going to be able to look at Malfoy again.

 

Ron welcomed Nott back to their dorm that night with a never before seen or expected hug and a “never leave us with Malfoy again, I beg you”. Nott had rolled his eyes and looked amused, but hadn’t made any promises.

The Christmas holidays started the day after next, and as they settled into bed Ron turned onto his side to face him. “You’re coming to the Burrow for Christmas, right?” he asked, and Harry nodded.

“Yeah, might have to come back a few days early though – I need to use the library for my DADA work,” he said, instantly warm at the thought of returning to the Burrow.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ron cursed. “I forgot about that. Might have to join you in that.” Harry smiled and yawned, bidding Ron goodnight and receiving a grunted, “’night,” in return.

Harry tried to think back to his Occlumency sessions with Snape, hoping clearing his mind might prevent a second dream about Malfoy, but it was hands that dragged him into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a month aahhhhh college. Hope you enjoyed it, feedback it always appreciated!


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised I left a sentence unfinished at first in the last chapter, it has been fixed :)

Draco was almost sure this was the first time in history the Hogwarts Express had needed to be delayed. He’d woken to a hubbub in the common room, and it’d taken him at least five minutes to get someone to explain to him the situation. A sixth year Hufflepuff, it seemed, had frozen the portrait shut, scared of the bees that regularly attacked the women inside it, having only heard the buzzing and thinking they were real. The boy, Chima, was from Nigeria, where, Padma Patil informed him, the freezing charms were particularly strong to combat the climate. It was half an hour after the Hogwarts Express was due to leave that a third letter had been flown through the window from the headmistress explaining to them that the train had been delayed and in fact hadn’t left without them, leading to a sigh of relief echoing through the eighth years.

Sat alone on an armchair (curse the Slytherin tendency of getting up early – his friends had been up early enough to escape the common room before the freezing occurred), Draco regretted having already packed his books away. It would take little more than a charm or two to get them out, but before he’d decided whether he could be bothered, his eyes fell on Potter and his friends. They were sat in front of the unlit fire, Potter prodding the ashes with the poker absent-mindedly, and Draco smiled at how out of it he seemed, obviously completely ignoring whatever Weasley was saying. It was rather humorous, what with Weasley’s overly enthusiastic arm gestures and bright eyes falling on apparently deaf ears. Even Granger looked bored.

He sighed when he looked back from Weasley to Potter: somehow, his hair was even messier than usual today. It had to be a talent, having hair _that_ wild and untidy. He remembered Blaise and Pansy’s firm agreement that the look was attractive and blushed, quickly glancing away, but was unable to stop himself from looking back.

What was so good about that hair? It was messy and far too long. It really had got long, it was easy to imagine a brush, or someone’s hand perhaps, would get lost in it, would dig into those curls and never return from that soft blanket. It had to be soft, right? God, it looked soft. He wanted to touch it, stroke it, maybe pull it a little to see what Potter’s response was…

Draco stood from his chair quickly, face heating furiously at his thoughts and adamently refusing to look anywhere but the wall on the opposite side of the common room from Potter. _Curiosity,_ he told himself, _that’s all it is._ Luckily, at that moment the portrait to the common room swung open and cheers arose around the room. Draco muttered a “finally” under his breath and, _accio_ ing his case, pushed forward into the throng of students attempting the leave.

When he eventually passed them, the women in the portrait wished him a Merry Christmas, though they seemed a little bewildered after their experience. He returned the sentiment, adding the same to Professor Flitwick who stood outside the portrait, obviously having been the one to fix it, and then made his way down the stairs, stopping to snicker when Hannah Abbott’s foot got stuck in a trick step. He offered a hand, which Abbott stared at warily before accepting.

“Thanks, Malfoy,” she muttered, and Draco shrugged.

“Christmas spirit,” he drawled, and Abbott rolled her eyes but smiled. He was about to start down the stairs again, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him and he turned.

“Potter,” he said, smothering his surprise and keeping his face blank. “What is it?” He crossed his arms, tapping a finger against his arm, and Potter-

Blushed. He _blushed_.

“I, er, just wanted to say Merry Christmas,” Potter said, and was obviously avoiding looking at him. Draco stared at him.

“Why?” he asked bluntly.

Potter huffed. “It’s polite.”

“You’ve never said it to me before,” Draco reminded him, and if possible Potter’s face got even redder.

“We haven’t been on polite terms before.”

“And we are now?”

Potter hesitated. “I’d- I’d like to think so,” he said, finally meeting Draco’s eyes. _Green, so green_.

Draco assessed the other boy for a short while. Polite terms with Harry Potter. It was weird, but then Draco could easily remember his desperation for such a thing in younger years, what had started as a desire to be Potter’s friend gradually transforming, he could admit, to a need for his attention in any way possible. Jealousy had played a large role, and secretly Draco wondered if he’d ever truly not be jealous of Harry Potter, with his fame, the Weasley’s as his loving surrogate family, and almost the entire wizarding world on his side.

“Merry Christmas, Potter,” was all he said in the end, before turning away and continuing down the steps.

 

“…and Bibulus said mother would _never_ be able to block twenty quaffles in a row, and let me tell you, it’s a _terrible_ idea to challenge my mother to anything quidditch related. And so _I_ said-”

Draco could vaguely hear Pansy talking in the background, as well as Blaise’s muted laughter following her story. Greg was asleep, as far as he could tell, and Theo’s nose was buried in a book. He himself was lost in thought.

He was looking forward to the holidays. For the past two years Christmas had passed by with little attention paid due to the presence of the Dark Lord in the manor. This year it would be just him and his mother, and Draco expected it would be by far the most comfortable Christmas he’d experienced so far, with both the Dark Lord and his father absent.

He was also looking forward to being away from Potter. The bugger was doing something strange to his mind, confusing it and making him think thoughts he wasn’t comfortable thinking about towards the _Chosen One_. He refused to become one of those smitten admirers who worshipped Potter and talked about how _handsome_ and _brave_ he was, so he was glad to have some space away from him so that he could put his head back on straight. Hopefully that would bring him back to reality.

Potter was a twat, and was _going_ to remember that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ew I don't like this chapter. I'm sorry, this fic is a mess.
> 
> Despite that, hope you enjoyed?


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's P.O.V.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Homophobic language

****

The burrow was quieter than Harry had ever experienced it. With Fred gone, there was an obvious hole in the family, and they’d barely seen George since he’d arrived.

The run up to Christmas was subdued; Harry found it difficult to sit around in the often uncomfortable silence and made himself as busy as possible with housework and his studying, something about which Hermione was very clearly happy. But despite the sadness shrouding the household, Mrs Weasley made them all feel at home, as always, with delicious food and tight hugs, and, unfortunately, the piercing shrill of Celestina Warbeck. Mr Weasley showed them his recent project about trains, at which Ron started grumbling about flying vehicles.

To tell the truth, Harry had been worried about the Weasley’s reaction to him and Ginny’s breakup, anxious that he might be blamed and snubbed, but he was relieved when nothing of the sort occurred. When he brought it up with Molly, she gave him a sad smile, patted his cheeks and said _these things happen when you’re young_ , and passed him the flour to add to the casserole.

On Christmas Eve, Harry and Ron had woken to the sound of crashing from downstairs. Running downstairs, yawning, they were greeted by the sight of Charlie and Bill sprawled out on the floor in front of the fire. Ginny was stood in the corner of the room, snickering.

“Did you do this Gin?” Charlie groaned, rubbing his head where it’d hit the floor. Ginny flipped him off.

“It’s Ron’s broomstick you tripped over. Blame him for leaving it in front of the fire when you were coming through the floo,” she said, and Charlie and Bill’s faces turned towards Ron as they stood and dusted themselves off. Ron scratched the back of his neck nervously.

“Er… Sorry?” he said sheepishly, and Harry snorted.

The older boys brushed it off and enfolded their siblings in hugs as each of them came downstairs to find out what the noise was about, then their parents. Hermione and Harry got handshakes each, and Harry didn’t miss the once over he was given by Charlie, making him blush hard and glance away. The looks continued all day, and Harry had to admit that Charlie was a good-looking man.

Later that night, as he and Ron prepared for bed, Harry cleared his throat. “I was, er, wondering,” he started. “Charlie, is he…”

“Gay?” asked Ron, getting into bed, and Harry nodded. “Yeah. Well bisexual, I think, but he prefers guys.” Ron hesitated. “How are you doing… with all that?” he asked, and Harry leant his head back on the headboard of his bed, staring upwards at an angle that certainly wasn’t good for his neck.

“I,” he said, and then faltered. “I dunno. I’m coming round to it. And…” He took a deep breath. “I think I might be gay,” he said, and then flinched, immediately wanting to take it back. “I mean-”

“Harry, that’s fine,” Ron said gently, and Harry drew in his breath. _It’s fine. It’s_ fine _._

He knew he wouldn’t believe that fully for a while, but he was getting used to it. Little by little, he’d get used to it. Maybe he would be happy with it at some point. But for now… he could too easily remember Uncle Vernon’s face when a character in his favourite TV show had kissed another man, and how he’d refused to watch another episode, complaining to Aunt Petunia about how it was _bloody disgusting pornography being shoved down his throat_. Too easily he could see the sneer Dudley had flashed him when Harry had pointed out how blue a man’s eyes were, calling him a fag and telling him to stay away from him.

“Thanks,” he muttered, flashing Ron a weak smile. He flicked off the _lumos_ and slid under the covers, closing his eyes, not wanting to speak anymore. He heard Ron sigh, then his light was extinguished too.

 

It took Harry a while to fall asleep, but when he did he was greeted by familiar hands. They caressed, and stroked, and were joined by lips roaming across his chest. Harry arched up into the sensation, groaning lightly and pulling the head down for heavier contact between the tongue and his nipple.

But when he opened his eyes, there were people. His Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, Dudley and his gang. They were staring, sneering, and Harry felt his throat tighten. Suddenly Draco wasn’t there anymore, and he was left bare in front of their eyes. Dudley scoffed and Harry scrambled to cover himself up, finding no bedsheets and having only his arms to use to do so.

“Disgusting,” Vernon muttered.

Petunia shook her head. “If Lily could see him now,” she sighed, looking away.

 _Harry_.

“You always said he was a fag hey Big D!” said one of Dudley’s friends, guffawing. The others laughed, and Harry tried to turn and run, tripping over nothing and falling on his knees.

 _Harry_.

“Bet you love being on your knees for people,” Dudley smirked. “Dirty faggot.”

Harry winced and fought to stop his eyes from tearing up.

_HARRY!_

“Should’ve left you out on that step,” said Vernon. “If we’d known how you would turned out, we probably would’ve.”

“Harry!”

Harry shot up, panting heavily and eyes wide, fighting to calm his racing heart. A dream, it was a dream, and of course it was but he felt nauseous.

“Harry, are you okay?” It was Ron, and as much as Harry appreciated him keeping his distance and not crowding him, it wasn’t what he needed. He needed _contact,_ to cover himself up.

“Ron,” he gasped out, grabbing his best friend’s sleeve and pulling him down towards him. Ron seemed to get the message, putting an arm around him and pulling him in tight.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, rubbing Harry’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

It was a while before Harry spoke. “I feel sick,” he whispered, and made to stand up, but Ron pulled him back down.

“Stay there, I’ll get a bucket,” he said, and Harry gave him a grateful smile.

When he returned, he was hovering an orange bucket with a cracked rim towards him. “I’m sorry about this,” Harry said softly, pulling it towards him. “And on Christmas morning too.”

“It’s okay mate,” Ron said, stretching his arms up and making his shoulders crack. “It’s not like you can control your dreams. You never did manage those Occlumency lessons.” He grinned. “‘ _Clear your mind, Potter,_ ’” he said, his Snape impression scarily accurate. Harry laughed, then groaned when his stomach decided to let loose Molly’s excellent dinner.

Neither of them went back to sleep, not seeing the point when everyone woke up early on Christmas day anyway. They made their beds and tidied the room, and at six o’clock Ron’s eyebrows shot up as he announced he had forgotten to wrap up Percy’s present.

“You know,” Ron said as he levitated pieces of sellotape at the present. “Your dream… Before your nightmare started, it sounded like you were, er, enjoying it,” he said, a smirk on his face. Harry blushed, both at the reminder of the dream and at the knowledge that he had been making noises for Ron to hear, making a mental note to cast a _muffliato_ around the bed next time.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled, deliberately not meeting Ron’s eyes, but he still saw the grin that broke out across his best friend’s face.

“And obviously that’s why you’re as red as a quaffle,” he said teasingly, and Harry whacked his friend on the arm, at which Ron pretended he was gravely wounded. The two dissolved in laughter, and by the time they went downstairs to open presents, Harry’s dream was the last thing on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, this ended up darker than I was expecting 
> 
> Sorry about the wait, mocks and college have had me quite busy  
> As always, feedback is appreciated!!


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's P.O.V.

Christmas day at the Manor dawned with an unexpected flurry of movement. Stepping out of his bedroom at half-nine, Draco was greeted by house-elf after house-elf scurrying around the corridors, disappearing into thin air and appearing again every other second, each carrying some form of dish or ingredient.

“Mother,” he greeted her once he finally managed to navigate around the dozens of elves and made his way to the lounge, where she was sat in an armchair reading. “Merry Christmas.”

Narcissa turned to look up at him, and beamed. “Merry Christmas Draco.”

“Should I ask about the elves?” he asked dryly, absently scratching at his forearm. His dark mark had been itching ever since he’d arrived back at the Manor.

Narcissa laughed. “I’ve invited some friends for Christmas dinner. The elves are understandably excited.”

Draco’s interest was piqued. “Who did you invite?”

Narcissa waved a hand. “Oh, the Parkinsons and the Notts. The Goyles and your friend Blaise already had other plans, I’m afraid. Understandably, it _was_ late notice.”

Pansy and Theo, then. That was something of a nice surprise, though even Draco and Narcissa found Pansy’s parents to be a little pretentious. Draco smiled and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek before making his way to the dining room where his personal house-elf Bimsy was serving him a continental breakfast.

Narcissa joined him as he was settling into a croissant with jam, _The_ _Daily Prophet_ open on the kitchen table beside him. The articles were nothing out of the ordinary, though mixed in were Christmas greetings and a description of Kingsley Shacklebolt’s plans for the holiday (he was visiting his sister and niece, apparently, though Draco wasn’t sure why he was supposed to care).

“The owls will be arriving soon,” she remarked, stealing a piece of bread from his plate and smothering it in lemon curd. “Will you go up to take the letters?”

“We have elves for that.”

“The elves are busy,” she reminded him. “Anyway, I thought _you_ might want to do it. You used to love it.” She smiled fondly. “You would wait in the attic all morning for them to arrive. No matter how many times I told you they’d be there at precisely ten o’clock, you’d wait for hours sometimes. You would say you were worried one would arrive early and have no one there to meet it. You’ve always loved animals.”

Draco snorted, amused. “You sound like you’re trying to guilt me,” he said.

“Just reminiscing, dear,” she said innocently, before grinning, and Draco felt immense calm flood over him. These last years he’d missed his mother’s smile more than anything. In his youth, it had been a grounding constant. Even when his father was at his worst he had always been able to count on his mother’s love, and it was when his access to it had been blocked by the Dark Lord taking up residency in his home that he’d realised the true horror of the path he was taking, of the world the Dark Lord planned to build.

Loveless, dark, and lonely.

He finished off his breakfast in silence, Narcissa pouring herself a cup of coffee and sipping it slowly. When he finished, he placed his knife and fork down on the plate, sighing. “All right then, I’ll go and fetch the owls,” he gave in, knowing it would make Narcissa happy at least.

“You’re a good boy,” she smiled, and Draco rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled.

He made it to the attic just in time to see the owls swooping in to settle on the perches. There were certainly a lot, though nowhere near the numbers they had used to get on Christmas Day. As he entered, one of the owls, a tawny, flew over and perched on his shoulder pecking gently at his neck. “Yes, yes,” he sighed. “I’ll get you some treats. Patience is a virtue, you know.”

He fed the owls each in turn, laughing when he came to one that was obviously disoriented, struggling to stay upright on its perch. “You all right there?” he asked, leaning forward to take the letter from its leg and feed it a treat. He looked down at the letter, frowning at the unfamiliar handwriting. He put it at the top of the pile and continued collecting.

 

Almost half an hour later, once he had finished petting the needy birds. He made it back downstairs, the stack of envelopes in hand. He set them down beside his mother in the lounge for her to read, and picked up the one with the unfamiliar writing.

It read:

_Dear Lady Malfoy and Household,_

_Holiday greetings! We wish you a very merry Christmas and a splendid New Year!_

_Arthur and I are delighted to accept your invitation to dinner on the 1 st of February. Would you like us to bring anything? I’m afraid we’re rarely invited to dinner, more usually hosting ourselves, and so are a little rusty on the etiquette of the whole thing! _

_Christmas Wishes,_

_Molly Weasley, all the other Weasleys, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter._

_P.S. I’m dreadfully sorry if Errol damages anything. Send him back as soon as possible, it’s the best way to avoid the total destruction of your attic._

Draco stared at the letter. “Mother,” he said in a strangled voice. “Why are we getting letters from the Weasleys?”

Narcissa’s eyes lit up. “Have they responded to my invite?” she asked, taking the letter and completely ignoring his question. She scanned it and beamed.

“Mother. Please tell me this is part of some insanely horrible plot to eat them alive.”

Narcissa looked horrified. “Draco that is hugely disturbing.”

“Disturbing!” Draco exploded. “What’s disturbing is you inviting the Weasley parents over for dinner! And receiving Christmas letters from them!”

“Well, I did send them one as well,” she said.

“You _did_?” he said shrilly, well aware of how worked up he was getting and taking deep breaths to calm himself down. “But you _hate_ the Weasleys!”

“No,” she said absently, now scanning through another of the letters. “Your father hates them. I actually think them quite pleasant company. Molly’s adorable and Arthur is quite hilarious with his obsession with muggles.” She looked up at him briefly, an amused expression on her face. “Please Draco,” she said as she looked back down at the writing. “You’re looking at me like I’ve told you I’m entering a polyamorous relationship with the two of them.”

Draco spluttered. “Mother!”

“We have to make friends, Draco,” she said. “As I’m sure you can see from this pile of letters, we don’t have nearly as many as we used to. It’s time we started making our own friends, away from those your father made for us. This is me starting on that.”

Draco was silent, considering his mother’s words. His eyes inadvertently strayed to the bottom of Molly Weasley’s letter at the last name listed.

 _Harry Potter_.

He’d tried his best, he really had, to keep his mind off the man all holiday. It had helped somewhat that away from the school his dreams concerning the Golden Boy’s sleeping pattern had stopped, replaced by far more normal dreams of being chased by an Acromantula or turning up to class in only his underwear.

But then, every so often he’d be startled out of a daydream to realise he’d been thinking about Potter’s eyes, or his hair, or whatever part of him was the most startling in the latest pictures of him in _The Daily Prophet_. He remembered their last conversation before the holidays - supposedly, the two of them were on _polite terms_ now. Making his own friends? Perhaps Potter could be that. He guessed he should probably give the other man a chance.

He hummed absent-mindedly, then looked up at his mother, flashing her a grin. “I’ll try it, maybe. Come on now, I want to give you your present.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! Feedback is appreciated, as always, and if you spot any errors please do tell me!!   
> Tell me what you think??


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's P.O.V.
> 
> Teeny-tiny bit of mature content

“You’re back, are you?” Harry murmured, fighting exhaustion to keep his eyes open. He sighed and pushed himself into a sitting position against the headboard, staring down at the small snake at the foot of his bed, reaching over for his glasses so he could see it better. Except for him and Ron, it was only Neville from their dorm who had returned to Hogwarts early to look after a project he and Professor Sprout were working on, so the room was fairly empty, though those who had arrived by the Hogwarts Express were starting to trickle onto the grounds, most having fallen asleep in the train and decided to stay there for the night. “Have a nice Christmas break?” he asked, yawning, but the snake just hissed. Not for the first time since these visits had started, Harry wished he could still speak Parseltongue.

“That good, huh?” he said wryly. “Me too. Nothing quite like a Weasley Christmas, let me tell you. Dinner’s superb, the atmosphere’s cheerful, for the most part, until anyone brings up or thinks about Fred, at which the mood plummets, and then quite suddenly you’re having your first kiss with a guy – with a man who’s been flirting with you all holiday – underneath the mistletoe, unreasonably soon after you’ve even worked out that you might not be exactly… straight. And then you really have to wonder did you like it because you like kissing guys full stop, or because you might fancy him just a little bit.” He blinked. “Or maybe that’s just my experience of it. I expect other people’s accounts may vary. Oh well.” He glanced over at the snake and sighed at the unblinking response, the unbroken stare. “Maybe I’ve been holding stuff in. I’m pretty sure Ron wouldn’t appreciate details of me kissing his brother.”

He flopped down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Maybe I should talk to Hermione,” he mused. “I’d probably get better results from talking to her than talking to you.” He looked up again, but the snake was gone. “Night then,” he said, but didn’t fall asleep.

Charlie was… Charlie was attractive. And funny, and really interesting to talk to about his work and quidditch. And honestly? He was an amazing kisser.

Harry sniggered at the thought of telling Ron that.

But Charlie was a little too soon. Harry wasn’t ready for a relationship with someone he barely knew and had met only a few times, nor was he ready for a brief fling of some kind, still coming to terms with his sexuality. And maybe, he supposed, Charlie could have helped with that, but…

It wasn’t Charlie that Harry dreamt about. Even Christmas night, shortly after the kiss, Harry had fallen asleep and been taken apart slowly by long, pale fingers and lips placing gently kisses across his body. He jolted in bed at the memory of the night of the thirtieth of December, when those lips had lowered and kissed along the length of his cock, the brush of tongue the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced. He’d woken up the next morning obscenely hard, rushing to the shower before Ron could see and make fun of him. It’s been simultaneously the best and worst orgasm of his life: it had hit like no other, spurred on by the picture of Malfoy’s lips on his cock, but almost destroyed by the brush of disappointment when he’d woken up that he wouldn’t get to experience the true pleasures of that mouth, and probably never would.

Charlie wasn’t who he wanted, not really, not matter how good a kisser he was. But it was almost ridiculous for Harry to keep wanting Malfoy, to keep calling him _Draco_ in his dreams, when the other boy would never want him back. Hell, the other boy was reluctant for them even to act politely towards each other, and as far as Harry knew, he was one hundred percent straight. And Godric knew if Malfoy were ever to find out about his stupid crush – because that was what it was, truthfully – he’d never hear the end of it. Malfoy certainly wouldn’t hold up the ‘polite’ pretence anymore, and would almost certainly shove it in his face.

Why did he even like this man again?

Though the thought was flippant, then it stuck in his head. Why _did_ he like Malfoy? He was definitely attractive, Harry could admit, but then so was Charlie.

Malfoy was…

A challenge. Every time Harry managed to engage him he felt triumphant. Having his attention like that… he felt powerful. Malfoy had a way of making him feel excited that he was worthy of his time. He hadn’t noticed it before this year, he supposed, because he’d always been able to attract Malfoy’s attention, though that attention had almost always led to fights and the trading of insults. But this year, in the beginning they’d barely conversed more than exchanging sneers and nods, and Harry wondered if maybe he’d missed it. Missed being the centre of someone’s attention, which he could quite safely say he didn’t feel with anyone else, quite glad to shrink into the shadows when a first year stared at his scar as he passed or when a group of sixth years whispered loudly into their hands about him.

Malfoy’s attention was different. He didn’t know why, he just knew he craved it. Above all, he wanted to use that attention to learn more about him, to become his friend at least, even if he couldn’t be more.

It was with that thought that he finally fell asleep, glasses still on.

 

When Harry left the dormitory the following morning into the common room, it was to the disturbing sight of his best friends trying to eat each other’s faces. He groaned loudly, startling the two apart, who looked at him with sheepish grins. “It’s way too early for that,” he complained, gesturing at them to explain ‘that’.

“Sorry mate,” came Ron’s reply, and Harry stuck his tongue out at him.

“Hi Hermione,” he greeted her. “How was France?” She smiled.

“It was great! My parents finally completely remember me, so it was good,” she said, and Harry beamed.

“I’m glad,” he said honestly, and Ron grinned too, giving her a brief peck. Harry expected they’d already had this conversation. He pointed at Ron. “He was moping as soon as you left on Boxing Day. It was repulsive.”

Ron spluttered, reddening. “I was not!” Harry raised an eyebrow. “Only a little bit!”

Hermione laughed, blushing a little. Then her eyes, mirrored by Ron’s, widened in surprise as they looked at something behind him. He turned around just in time to see Malfoy, hair untended from bed, throw himself down in the armchair behind them, facing the three of them.

“All right Potter,” he said. “Tell me about your holiday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts???
> 
> If you see any mistakes please do let me know!!  
> Hope you enjoyed :)


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's P.O.V.

_Friends with Potter_.

It was a nice idea, in theory, one that etched itself into Draco’s skull over the remainder of the holidays. It would be nice. He could increase his friendship group, gain back a little of the respect his family had lost, and…

Well, he could get closer to Potter. That was the meaning of friendship, right?

In practise, it was a little more difficult. The last time he’d made a friend was Theo when they arrived at Hogwarts as first years, and to that day it remained the only example of Draco making friends without his father shoving them together due to their blood, and even then Lucius had intensely encouraged him into the friendship.

Not that he regretted it; his friendships with Blaise, Pansy, Greg and Theo were some of the few things from his father with which he was happy. More than that, he treasured his friends, and his heart panged whenever he thought of Vincent, grateful that he no longer had the nightmares about watching him die. They may have been on bad terms when he’d died, and maybe Draco hadn’t held quite the same views as the other boy, but they’d still been friends, and watching him be swallowed whole by the fiendfyre was a bad enough memory to experience once, let alone over and over in his dreams.

In short, Draco didn’t have much experience making friends. And for it to be Potter, of all people, with whom he was attempting to make friends when the two had disliked each other for so long… He was somewhat out of his depth.

And, to be honest, the annoying _emotions_ he had somehow acquired concerning the man didn’t help the matter.

“ _Pansy_ ,” he moaned through the fireplace in his bedroom the night before they was due back at Hogwarts. “How do people make friends?”

Pansy blinked at him in surprise, pausing in her tidying. “Make friends?” she repeated, frowning. “Who do you-” Realisation dawned on her face, quickly followed by a smirk. “Ooh,” she said, “You want to get closer to _Potter_.”

Draco huffed. “Never mind,” he said, starting to pull his head out of the fire before Pansy rushed towards him.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she said hurriedly. “I won’t tease I promise.” Draco grunted, but stayed, glad no one could tell how red his cheeks were through the flames. “Out of curiosity, though, what happened to thinking he was spying on you or whatever?” she asked.

“Still do, a little bit,” he grumbled, but then sighed. “He’s not that childish anymore, I don’t think. I may have- I may have overreacted and jumped to conclusions.”

Pansy smiled. “I think you’re right.” There was a brief pause. “So, what made you decide to repair relations between you and the Golden Boy?” she asked.

He snorted. “You say repair like our relationship was broken. There was never a relationship _to_ repair.” Pansy shrugged in concession. “It was mother, mainly.”

“Narcissa? Why?”

“She, uh, she made me realise that all the friends I have are friends father made for me.” Pansy looked slightly affronted, and Draco hurried to clarify what he meant. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re the best friends I could ever have hoped for, it’s more about expanding-” he struggled for words “-my sphere of influence?”

Pansy raised an eyebrow. “Like the Soviet Union?”

Draco sighed. “I don’t mean that. I mean, it’s about adding more variety to the status of the people I socialise with. As it is, I’m accustomed to a certain type of person, and whilst my father preferred to keep the company of only that group, I would rather I was more diverse.” He shrugged. “If I’m going to go into politics, I should really know about more than just the upper class pureblood group of which I’ve always been a part, right?”

“That makes sense,” Pansy said grudgingly after a pause. “But honestly, I’m not sure I’d ever believe you were trying to get close to Potter just for educational or political reasons.” The smirk returned. “I’m thinking more social reasons.”

“Sod off,” said Draco, feeling red spread over his face. “So maybe there’s a reason why I chose for Potter to be the recipient of my reaching out. So what?”

Pansy stared, smiling. “It’s cute. I haven’t seen you with a crush this bad since that one on Viktor Krum in fourth year.”

“Who said anything about a crush?” Draco spluttered, and she laughed.

“To be honest, I’m not sure why you’d ask me about making friends, I’m in about the same boat as you are,” she said, returning to the initial point to the call. “But I suppose, you take interest in their life? Find things out about them, compliment them, spend time with them, all that bollocks?” She cast a _tempus_ , and then cursed. “It’s time to leave, Draco, I need to catch the train to Waterloo, the Floo system there’s blocked.”

“I can’t believe you failed your Apparition test five times,” Draco sniggered, and Pansy shot him a dirty look. “See you on the train,” he said, then withdrew from the fire at Pansy’s grunt of response.

He walked to his bed and lay himself down on his back. He, unlike Pansy, had passed his Apparition exam first time, so had almost an hour before he had to leave. Time enough, he decided to work out a plan for making friends.

 

“All right Potter, tell me about your holiday.”

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he winced internally. No matter his determination to do this right, the greeting was disgustingly forced. _Take interest in their life_. Salazar, he must have found the most awkward way to do that in the history of forever.

Potter looked stunned. Granger and Weasley, behind him, were respectively wide-eyed and gawping. “My holiday?” Potter said in a small voice.

“We’re being polite now, right?” Draco answered a little desperately, though hoping against hope that no one noticed. “Hence, how was your holiday?”

“Er,” Potter started, face adorably confused.

Abort, abort. Not adorable. Potter and adorable did not go, and would never go, thank you very much.

“It was good?”

It took a moment for Draco to realise Potter had answered his question, too distracted by his self-chastisement. He nodded at the response, attempting to hide his panic at the short answer: that really wasn’t the kind of response that opened up more conversation.

“…you?” Draco startled at the continuation, taken aback.

“Er, me?” he asked, confused.

“How was your holiday?” Potter clarified, and when Draco glanced up at the Weasel and Granger they were looking at him as if he’d gone mad. Which, to be honest, he almost felt as if he had. For all his planning, he hadn’t thought about Potter asking questions in return.

“Oh. It was good, too.”

Silence reigned for a few long, awkward moments. Then Draco stood. “Well, it was good catching up,” he said, and he turned on his heel to walk away, mentally beating himself up.

When he reached Pansy, she took in his red face and tense posture and looked at him with pity. “Well, it was a start?” she said, pulling out a chair for him.

He took it and put his head in his hands. He wasn’t good at making friends, he had learnt. More planning was needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco's so awkward it's so fun to write it gives me life :)  
> Hope you enjoyed!! Two updates in one week what the hell???? Who even knows? Your comments spur me on, please keep them coming!! xx
> 
> (As always, please tell me if you spot any mistakes!!)


	13. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's P.O.V.

Harry watched Malfoy walk away, blinking.

“What-”

“What the fuck just happened?” Ron demanded, and Hermione hit him lightly on the arm for the swear. It must have been instinctual, as Hermione looked just as confused as Harry felt and Ron certainly appeared.

“You guys saw that too, right? I’m not going mad?” Harry checked, staring over at Malfoy, where he was sat with Parkinson looking miserable, and wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse when his two best friends nodded. He wasn’t mad, but that meant that it had been real, which was just about as terrifying.

“Maybe it was collective hallucination?” Hermione suggested faintly.

“I kind of wish it was,” Ron muttered. “Maybe it’s Malfoy who’s gone mad.” Then he turned to Harry. “And what’s all this ‘I thought we were being polite now’? Since when are you and Malfoy _polite_?” He shuddered at the last word.

“Uh,” said Harry. “Well, I… I proposed it to him before Christmas. I wasn’t really expecting that response, though.”

“Why?” Ron wanted to know. Harry shrugged, and looked down to hide the red as it crept onto his cheeks.

“Er-” He cleared his throat when his voice broke. “House unity and all that. I thought maybe the two of us could set a good example to the lower years, you know?”

Harry didn’t think he’d ever bullshitted so quickly in his life.

Hermione, however, looked delighted. “Oh Harry, that’s a wonderful idea!” she said, gaining enthusiasm. “That’s exactly the type of thing the school needs!”

Harry almost felt bad, but if it meant he didn’t have to express his _feelings_ for Malfoy to his friends, he’d take it. “Ah, thanks Hermione,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked back up at Malfoy, across the room. “He looks a little mortified, to be honest.”

Ron snorted. “Who wouldn’t be, after that?” he pointed out, and Harry had to concede. Hermione bit her lit worriedly.

“Maybe you should go talk to him,” she said, glancing at Harry. “He _did_ make an effort, after all.”

Ron looked horrified. “You’re trying to make him talk to Malfoy out of _choice_?” he asked, arms waving wildly. “You would do that to your own friend?”

“I think she’s right,” Harry said. He watched as Malfoy got up and left the common room, waiting a few moments before standing himself. “I’ll see you two in Charms.”

Ron spluttered, but Harry was already walking away.

 

Harry caught up to the Slytherin on a flight of stairs connecting the fifth and sixth floors. “Malfoy,” he said, slightly out of breath. Malfoy whipped around, a startled look in his eyes which quickly drained away when he saw Harry.

“Potter,” he said. “Come to mock me have you?”

Harry blinked. Underneath his sneer, Malfoy sounded _nervous_. “Er, no?” he said, confused, and the other man scoffed. Harry shook his head, trying to clear it. “No, look, I wanted to apologise.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened. “Apologise?”

“Yeah, I mean, you were trying, up there, and I left you hanging a bit.” He lowered his stare down to his shoes, tapping the toe of one against the stairs. “To be honest, I was taken by surprise a little.”

Silence followed, and after what seemed like an age Harry looked up, to find Malfoy opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Harry almost laughed. “Understandable,” Malfoy said in the end, and blushed.

Harry felt his heart skip a beat. Malfoy was blushing, and it was adorable, which was certainly not a word he had associated with the man before now.

“Ugh,” Harry stammered, feeling light headed at the sudden loss of air, at which point he realised he’d stopped breathing. He took a deep breath and forced himself to look away from Malfoy’s suddenly-very-fragile seeming features.

“You all right, Potter?” Malfoy’s voice asked, and Harry was startled that it was closed than it had been.

“I’m fine,” he said, and looking up saw real concern on those features. It was disconcerting, definitely, yet at the same time his body _thrummed_ at the attention. _Malfoy_ ’s attention. “Just a little light headed,” he said truthfully.

Malfoy stared at him for a moment, as if trying to work something out, and then shrugged. “Okay then,” he said, and turned away to walk down the stairs. “See you around, Potter.”

When he was gone, Harry let himself smile.

 _Progress_.

 

Harry entered the dorm, smile having remained in place all day, to the sight of a screech owl perched on his headboard, a letter tied around its leg, and he quickly moved to relieve it.

 _Harry,_ the note read.

_I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable over the holidays. Kissing you like that probably wasn’t what you need right now._

_Whilst we don’t know each other as well as the rest of the family, I enjoy spending time with you – you are a very interesting and attractive man, after all. However, if you wish it, I am happy for our relationship to be purely platonic from now on._

_I hope you are well,_

_Charlie Weasley_

Harry distractedly fed the owl a treat, eyes staring unseeingly through the parchment. Minutes passed before he was able to focus himself and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. Charlie was, to use his own words, an _interesting and attractive man_ , and yet, if his interaction with Malfoy that morning had proven anything, it was that he was more than a little infatuated by the Slytherin. Starting something with Charlie, whatever that _something_ turned out to be, wouldn’t be fair to him.

Harry scrawled out a message with words to that effect, apologising profusely, and sent it away with the owl, knowing he was closing off a path for himself.

Then he remembered Malfoy’s blush, and really hoped he was opening up a different one.

In his dreams that night that blush covered Malfoy's entire body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's so late, I've had pretty bad writer's block on this one and have distracted myself by writing Merthur one-shots. Sorry!!!!  
> But hey, development in the Drarry department? 
> 
> As always, please tell me if you notice any mistakes, and feedback is hugely appreciated!!!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!


	14. Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's P.O.V.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: little bit of mature content at beginning

_Potter was tossing and turning, muttering incoherently under his breath and panting lightly. This had been happening with increasing frequency before the Christmas holidays, and it seemed it hadn’t ceased since._

_Draco watched on, engrossed in the sight of Harry writhing on the bed sheets. It was far too easy to imagine the image as the other man in the throes of ecstasy, and Draco couldn’t help but feel hungry at the sight. But then again, perhaps it was a nightmare that caused the fake-Harry of Draco’s dreams an unsettled rest, but as this was his dream, Draco chose to view it as what he knew he’d never get to see whilst awake._

_Harry’s panting was getting louder, and Draco was undeniably turned on by the sounds. He'd never wished more that he was closer to the Golden Boy in his dreams than he did now, wishing he could reach out a hand and run is down that defined chest, lick those thighs…_

_Salazar, Draco wanted._

_And then: “Draco,” Harry moaned, and Draco woke up._

Draco sat up, heart-racing and cock straining against his pyjama bottoms. “Fuck,” he whispered into the darkness, jumping a little when Greg snored loudly. “ _Fuck_.” He pushed off his trousers, kicking them down the bed, and had to hold in a loud moan as he wrapped a hand around himself, bucking up into it. He was so turned on and sensitive that it took very few strokes to bring himself to orgasm, biting his lip and whimpering as it rushed through him, before immediately glancing around to check no one had woken.

They hadn’t, and thank Salazar for small mercies.

It set in as he was cleaning himself up. He’d wanked over a wet dream about _Potter_ , and as much as he may have accepted he was attracted to the other man, there was no way of making that _not weird_. Blaise would cry laughing if he found out.

Which he wouldn’t. Ever.

Stupid Potter. Stupid, ridiculous, unfairly gorgeous Potter who had _apologised_ for being _rude_ to him. To him. An act of Gryffindor chivalry that had probably meant little but a continuation of their resolution to be polite to one another to him, but had almost made Draco forget that truth and kiss him where he stood.

This wasn’t good. He was going for friendship, that had been the plan, and that target would be a lot harder to achieve if he was constantly thinking about kissing and shagging the Boy Who Lived, as that was beyond detrimental to his focus.

Draco stared into the mirror above the sink, embarrassed at the flushed cheeks and wide eyes staring back at him. He cast a _tempus_ charm and, realising he still had enough time to get in another hour of sleep, made his way back to bed. Clearing his mind before falling asleep was never as hard as when it was Potter’s piercing green eyes he was trying to push away.

 

“Potter’s staring at you again.”

Pansy’s observation had all the Slytherin’s in a three seat radius glancing over at the Gryffindor table – which, to Draco’s annoyance, was stacked high with croissants and jam, whilst the Slytherin table was left with toast and marmalade – to see Potter hurriedly turn his face away. “He’s probably thinking about your attempt to make friends yesterday,” Pansy continued. “I would be, if I were him. It was pretty atrocious.”

“What happened to you being supportive?” Draco wanted to know. “Anyway, I doubt it. He came after me and apologised afterwards.”

Pansy’s knife clattered down onto her plate where she had dropped it. “He _what_?” she shrieked, attracting numerous weird looks.

Draco smirked. “He apologised for, and I quote, ‘leaving me hanging’, then got light-headed and pale. Probably allergic to saying sorry or something.”

Pansy snorted, and then her eyes narrowed as they fixed on Draco. “So,” she said, and Draco suddenly felt a strong sense of foreboding. He internally debated the pros and cons of running away, but – she’d get her way anyway. There was no use. “It was you and Potter. Anyone else around?”

Draco sighed. “No.”

Her eyes glinted and she leant in closer to his ear. “Did you shag? Is that why he’s looking this way?” she whispered, and Draco pushed her away by her shoulder, but was unable to hold back a blush.

“Of course not you idiot,” he complained. “I don’t even fancy him.”

Pansy laughed then raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lie if I ever heard one,” she said, and at that moment Blaise dropped down in the seat beside Pansy, Greg following him.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Draco’s trying to make me believe he doesn’t fancy Potter,” Pansy told him, and Blaise smirked.

“Ah Draco,” he said. “Are you sure? Have you seen that hair? Those eyes? That _arse_? It’s so tight I would pay a fortune to squeeze it.” He pondered that. “Maybe I’ll make him that proposition.”

Draco heard a growl, and was somewhat surprised a moment later to realise it had come from him. Blaise laughed. “Calm down, I’m joking. Though not about the arse, it _is_ a godsend.” His eyes fixed on something across the room, and Draco glanced round to see it was, in fact, the very arse of their discussions leaving the Great Hall. Draco bit his lip.

When he looked back around, Blaise and Pansy were smirking at him. “Shut up,” he muttered, taking a bite of toast to avoid having to justify himself a moment longer. “It’s a nice arse. I can’t deny that. But that doesn’t mean I fancy him.”

“But you do,” piped up Greg, and the other three stared at him. “What? It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

Blaise was the first to recover. “There you go. Even Greg can see it – no offence, Greg.”

“None taken,” said Greg promptly.

Draco didn’t reply. “It’s time for Potions,” he said instead, swallowing down the last of his toast. “Come on, you’ll have to eat on the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!! Feedback is always appreciated, and please tell me if you notice a mistake!!


	15. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's P.O.V.

The newest itch in Harry’s mind had started at the beginning of the week and only grown since. A passing remark by Professor McGonagall that, “Remember, the more you apply yourself now, they better job prospects you’ll have” had made its way inside his brain and refused to leave, instead wriggling in deeper and deeper. The fact was, Harry didn’t think he had it in him any longer to stick with his previous dream of being an Auror. It was all very fine and exciting to think of in an abstract sense – hunting down criminals, using perceptiveness and shrewdness to seach for leads – but in a practical sense Harry just didn’t think he had the spirit for it anymore. The years of being unwillingly thrust into danger and mayhem had rather given him the thrill he needed for a lifetime in that regard, and even without that the truth was that much of being an Auror had to be _terribly_ boring, what with long stakeouts and piles of reports and paperwork to write up.

And so, Harry was feeling lost. He really had very few ideas in mind of what he could do, and it was really starting to grate on him. He was aware he’d been distant with his friends all week, burying himself in homework and career pamphlets all week, and he knew he needed to sort this out soon.

Which was why, when Ron and Hermione left for Hogsmeade with the rest of the eighth years that Saturday, Harry did not follow, instead making his way to the library with his newest batch of pamphlets.

 _Apparition Examiner_ was the first one he looked at, and he immediately grimaced. He’d never liked the experience of apparating, and the very idea of doing it as a job made him shudder, and he quickly threw it on the reject pile.

 _Ministry Worker_. No.

 _Wizengamot Artist_ briefly attracted his eye, before he remembered that he couldn’t draw for the life of him. It joined the pile.

 _Dragonologist_. Harry smiled at the thought, and then again at the thought of Charlie in the leathers the wizards and witches in the pamphlet were wearing, but it definitely wasn’t for him, so that went too.

 _Astronomer._ No.

 _Healer_. Even though Professor McGonagall had, in the end, allowed him to do Transfiguration at N.E.W.T. level, he hadn’t taken Herbology, and he felt something of a pang at dismissing the career.

_Librarian. Muggle Ambassador. Obliviator, Wandmaker, Security Guard._

It didn’t feel right.

He sat pondering his options, and it was then that he heard footsteps approaching, loud in the silence of the room, and looked up to see Malfoy walk in, see him, and freeze.

“Malfoy,” he greeted him, and Malfoy nodded back at him, moving to the nearest shelf and seemingly grabbing the first book he came to before taking a seat in an armchair. Harry tried to ignore him, attempting to read the leaflet on Hit Wizards, but Malfoy was proving extremely distracting by acting…weirdly. He kept putting the book in front of his face, peering out over it at the door, and at any sound or movement around the castle he would flinch back behind the book.

“What are you doing?” Harry wanted to know, and Malfoy’s eyes flashed towards him, surprised, as if he’d forgotten he was there.

“Er,” he started, still staring at him, and Harry found himself involuntarily start to go red and the look. He then realised that this was probably the first time he’d ever heard Malfoy stutter over his words. “I’m hiding.”

Harry’s own shock was echoed back at him on Malfoy’s face, and Harry started to wonder if the other boy was losing it. “Hiding,” he repeated. “Hiding from…?”

Malfoy’s eyes were wide, and Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever really noticed before just how silvery the colour of them was. It was almost _pretty_ , and he was taken back for a moment at the thought, but then again…

They seemed so _familiar_. Harry wondered how often he’d noticed Malfoy’s eyes without even realising it for that to be so. He had to get a hold of this crush.

“Pansy,” Malfoy said finally, and Harry was knocked out of his contemplation.

“Huh?” He blinked. “Oh, right. Why are you hiding from Parkinson?”

At this, Malfoy suddenly seemed to remember who he was talking to, and stiffened. “None of your business, _Potter_ ,” he sneered, and Harry sighed. _One step forward, two steps back_.

“Come on Malfoy, don’t be an arse,” he said gently, and braced himself for an explosion.

…Which never came. “She wants me to take her to _Madam Puddifoot’s_.” He shuddered, and Harry would have done the same had a pain not just shot through his chest at the idea of Malfoy with _Parkinson_.

“Not your idea of a good date, huh?” he joked weakly, and Malfoy shot him a look of disgust.

“A date? Are you serious? I’m not dating Pansy!” he said, a little too loudly so that Madam Pince hissed at him. The only sign he’d heard her was the lowering of his voice. “Why the hell would you say that?”

Harry was confused, but he couldn’t deny the relief that fell over him. “Wait, you’re saying she wants you to go with her the Madam Puddifoot’s and have it _not_ be romantic?” he asked incredulously.

Malfoy’s fervent nod made it clear he held a similar feeling to Harry on the thought. “She’s crazy. It’s not even like she might think we would be good together, she’s known I’m bloody gay since she watched me fawn over Viktor Krum all of fourth year.” He stopped and looked over at Harry, clearing his throat. “Not that I fawn, of course.”

Harry had stopped listening though, and his current state of mind rested at a consistent _ABORT! ABORT! ABORT!_ Which had begun with the admittance of Malfoy’s sexuality and would end…at an indefinite time in the (hopefully) near future. Malfoy was gay. That was what he had said, right?

“I,” Harry started. “Uh. Yeah.”

Malfoy gave him a funny look. “You all right, Potter?”

“I,” Harry said. “Uh. Yeah.”

The look from Malfoy was increasing to _has the Saviour finally cracked?_ “Anyway,” he continued. “She knows I’m gay, so why would she force _Madam Puddifoot’s_ on me? I don’t get it.”

“Beats me,” said Harry. Malfoy sighed.

“Me too.” He slumped down in his chair and Harry was left wondering how they’d ended up here. Malfoy glanced up at Harry’s table. “What’re all the pamphlets?” he asked.

“Careers,” Harry said, glad for the change in subject.

“You haven’t decided yet?” Malfoy asked, and Harry shrugged.

“Not yet.”

“I always pictured you as a teacher,” Malfoy said absently, playing with his hair. Then he quite abruptly stood, brushing off his robes. “Well, see you Potter, Pansy will have left by now. Enjoy your pamphlets.”

He left, and Harry was left wondering 1) why he’d never considered teaching before and 2) why Malfoy of all people had considered Harry’s future job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY I'M LATE there were exams and then holidays and then it was my birthday and I AM SO SORRY.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter though?? Feedback is, as always, much appreciated, and if you see any errors please tell me!!


	16. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's POV

Draco was...surprisingly cheerful. Since he'd managed to avoid Pansy's _horrible_ and _mean_ intentions to drag him to Madam Puddifoot's he was feeling particularly self-satisfied and happy he'd dodged such a bullet. Blaise hadn't been so lucky, and Draco sniggered at the thought of how uncomfortable he must have been stuck in the tearoom with just Pansy for company. Not that they didn't get on, but it was rare that they were left alone together.

Draco delighted in the thought of how awkward it must be for them.

Greg and Theo had managed to avoid it for a double date. A couple of seventh years had asked them out, and Draco wasn't sure if Theo would have agreed if Greg hadn't immediately blurted out 'yes', probably in surprise at having been asked out at all. It was certainly a first.

But the main thing was he'd got out of it, and in doing so had managed to last an almost entirely civil conversation with Potter. He was almost proud.

Scratch that, he was one hundred percent proud.

He was so happy that even when Blaise and Pansy returned and Blaise admitted he'd actually quite enjoyed Puddifoot's he'd barely let his disappointment affect him. So Blaise hadn't had the awkward day Draco'd been hoping to tease him over, didn't mean this didn't lead to other perfectly valid teasing options.

Overall, he was feeling buzzed, and it lead to him finding himself awake at one o'clock in the morning, long after everyone else in the dorm had fallen asleep. Greg had stayed up with him for a while, excitedly filling him in on his first date, which according to both him and Theo hadn't been bad at all. But eventually he had fallen asleep too, having exhausted all the ways he could wax poetic about Lydia's freckles (which was surprisingly many), and Draco was left the only one awake in the quiet dormitory. A quiet which was broken by Draco's stomach growling loudly. He sighed, and decided it was worth the risk of running into Filch to attempt to get food from the kitchens. He didn't want to wake anyone up by calling a house-elf up to the room and eating there. He slid on his slippers as quietly as possible and summoned his dressing gown from the door before making his way out of the dormitory.

Luckily, the closest encounter he had with anyone on the way down was with Sir Cadogan, the overly enthusiastic knight, who shouted out for him to halt but turned out to be sleep talking. Draco rolled his eyes at the frame as he passed.

Tickling the pear in the portrait, Draco slipped into the kitchens, excitedly greeted by a swarm of house-elves. Amused, Draco sat down and watched as they scampered around to make him a snack. He was just settling down into a plate of beans on toast when the portrait swung open again.

Draco froze as Hermione Granger entered the room. Upon seeing him, she did the same, startled.

"Granger?" Draco said incredulously. "What are you doing here?" Granger rolled her eyes.

"I expect the same thing you are," she said, and the house-elves were practically crying from the happiness of a new person to serve. She turned to one of them. "I don't suppose you could scramble me an egg?" she asked, and the elf bowed low in response, grinning.

A thought occurred to him. "thought you took issue with this sort of thing," he said, nodding to the house-elves.

Granger frowned. "Yes, well. I've tried so many times to get them to see sense, and I'll never stop working for elf rights, but they really do seem to enjoy serving. If they're not treated badly, and they certainly aren't here, I figure I should let them do what they love." Draco thought of their house-elves back home. They were certainly treated better now than they had been before, and though some were still scared of their masters, the majority had realised that with Lucius gone they had nothing to fear from Draco or his mother.

"Elf rights. Sounds interesting, I must say," he mused, and Granger looked surprised.

"You think so?" she asked, and he nodded.

"I suppose they deserve it as much as any other magical being. The hardest part of it would be getting a lot of the elves themselves to agree, I guess," he said.

Granger didn't talk for a while. The house-elves passed her a dish and she thanked them, then returned to her thinking, playing with the egg. "I don't suppose..." she started hesitantly a few minutes later. "I mean, I've always thought the hardest part would be getting the diehard purebloods in the Wizengamot to agree. But if you- if you're on board, does that mean other purebloods might be?" 

Draco thought for a moment. "Some might. But if you're considering the diehards I'm an exception, and that's mainly due to seeing the effect of my father and the Dark Lord's control over them growing up. I wouldn't get your hopes up."

Granger deflated a little. "But you...you still socialise with those groups, right?" she said slowly, and Draco narrowed his eyes at her.

"To a degree. Why?"

She hesitated again, then met his eyes. "If you're on my side, you could persuade them from the inside. They'll never listen to a 'mudblood' like me," she said, and Draco flinched at the word, suddenly feeling guilty. "They'd listen to you though. Your family must have connections. Influence."

"Not enough, not anymore," Draco sighed. "I'm sorry Granger. I could try here and there, but to be honest my mother and I are trying to head in a direction away from the so-called 'diehards'. We don't want much of a part in that life now that father's gone."

Granger stared at him like he'd transformed into a peacock. "I...don't know what to say," she said finally, and Draco shrugged. She seemed to shake herself. "Yes, well, even just a word every now and then would be great." She finished her egg and sat back, an elf running forward to take her plate. "Thank you, Draco."

He almost jumped out of his seat. "Draco?" he repeated shrilly, covering his mouth in embarrassment at the noise. Granger stood, smirking.

"Yes, well, it's been wonderful talking to you. See you around, Draco." With that she left, thanking the elves again, leaving Draco frozen in his seat.

He wasn't sure he quite understood what had just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek sorry I'm late again, uni starts soon and there's so much to sort out!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, feedback is as always hugely appreciated, and please do point any mistakes you notice!
> 
>  
> 
> Edit: Ah there was a weird formatting problem!! Sorry think it's been fixed now!


	17. Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's P.O.V.

The next time Malfoy swapped beds with Nott for a night, Harry decided to stay up with him. Not that he had told Malfoy this prior, of course, but the sneer and eyeroll he received when he was still up when the others fell asleep was muted and more than made up for by the faint blush just visible in the glow of their wands.

"You're staying up?"� Malfoy asked, a resigned tone to his voice.

Harry beamed. "Thought I would. I want to know what's going on with this snake even more than you do, remember? I don't really fancy getting bitten again to be honest."�

Malfoy hesitated, then nodded slowly. "I suppose you can wait up with me," he said finally, as if Harry needed permission from him not to fall asleep. Harry resisted rolling his own eyes.

For a while they sat in awkward silence, which Malfoy resolved by pulling out a book and settling down to read it. After a few minutes he made an irritated noise, reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of reading glasses, narrowing his eyes at Harry.

"You'd better not make fun of me for these,"� he threatened, and Harry grinned, thinking better of mentioning all the times Malfoy had done just done that with the roles reversed.

"I didn't know you wore reading glasses,"� he said instead, a grin spreading onto his face as Malfoy slid them onto his nose, face screwed up in displeasure. It was clear he didn't like wearing them.

"I don't, usually," he said, but didn't elaborate.

"Why not?" Harry prompted after a few moments of silence, and Malfoy sighed.

"I usually have a charm on my eyes that stops me from needing them, but it ran out over Christmas,"� he said. "And before you ask, no, I couldn't just renew it, my father used to do it for me and we haven't been able to find the charm he used yet. Disadvantage of non-verbals."�

"Oh."� What was one supposed to say when someone brought up their father, follower of your mortal enemy who you helped get locked up. "Er, sorry, by the way,"� he ended up saying, and then immediately winced.

Malfoy snorted. "No, you're not. And you shouldn't be, he's an arse."�

Harry laughed in surprise. "Yeah, he kind of is."�

Malfoy glanced up as him, and Harry didn't miss the amused and disturbingly soft smile directed his way. His heart didn't either, but it did miss a beat.

"Why don't you just ask Flitwick? I'm sure he'd know it,"� Harry asked.

Malfoy didn't answer straight away. "Maybe I will,"� he said quietly, and from his tone Harry reckoned he shouldn't push any further.

For about an hour after that Malfoy read his book on his bed, and Harry practiced transfiguring his shoes into photo frames. When he had a line of frames covering the span of his bed, he remembered something.

"Thanks, by the way,"� he said suddenly, and Malfoy jumped at the noise.

"Salazar,"� he breathed. "Was that necessary?"�

"Sorry," Harry said.

"Salazar,"� he repeated. "What are you thanking me for, anyway?"

"About before. You helped me when I was thinking about careers. Thanks for that."�

Malfoy gave him a funny look. "I hardly _helped_. I just watched you fret and complained about Pansy from what I can remember."�

 _That definitely wasn't the most interesting part of that conversation,_ Harry thought, but dismissed the thought quickly. "You gave a suggestion, too. That I should be a teacher. I've been considering that one, it definitely seems more appealing than most of the others."�

Malfoy looked surprised. "I can't believe you hadn't thought of it before I mentioned it. You must have had loads of people say something similar with 'Dumbledore's Army' or whatever the bloody hell it was."�

Harry shrugged. "There were a few I guess. I just wasn't really thinking much about careers back then, you know? More about saving the world and all that."� He grinned, and Malfoy snorted, shaking his head. "But yeah, thanks."�

"That's okay, then. I hope you realise I didn't really do anything."�

"It was enough," Harry said, and was delighted to see the blush return to Malfoy's cheeks.

"You do know that if we're doing gratitude there's a whole lot more I could get into,"� Malfoy said a moment later, with a seriousness that was enough to make Harry smile fade.

"Me too, I suppose,"� Harry said. The quiet was cold and pressing, all of a sudden. "Maybe another time."�

Malfoy hesitated, then nodded, returning to his book.

By the time Harry's watch marked half three in the morning, Malfoy was falling asleep over his book, and Harry didn't have the heart to wake him. He was restless, though, and had been ever since Malfoy had brought up gratitude. It was of course, a big subject for the two of them, a big barrier in their relationship, perhaps.

Whatever it was, he couldn't sleep because of it. He got out of bed, grabbed his invisibility cloak and made his way out of the dorm, then the common room.

He must have wandered around the castle for nearly an hour, the most interesting incident occurring when one of the portraits heard his feet and threatened to call for Filch. Harry had hastily sped up his walk at that point.

When he returned, the couple's portrait swung open to the snake.

Harry froze, watching as the snake slithered towards him despite his cloak. When he recovered from the shock, he cast a thought to how upset Malfoy would be that it appeared to him outside the dorm and laughed quietly, taking off his cloak. As he did so, the edge caught on a candelabra (thankfully unlit) and sent it toppling to the ground, crashing onto the floor.

He heard several alarmed voices from the dorms as people woke, but his attention was drawn to the puddle of ink the snake had sunk into, which, unlike usual, was flowing straight up to Harry's own dorm.

Harry could only think of one difference about his dorm that night from other nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo it's been 2 months instead of 1 I am so sorry uni deadlines own my arse
> 
> Hopefully a Drarry and plot-filled chapter will help make up for it???  
> Kudos and Comments are very much welcomed!! (Please give me feedback??? Especially if you noticed a mistake??)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!!!


	18. Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh thank you so much people for over 300 kudos!! You are all fab!!

A bright light and a crashing sound woke Draco simultaneously, his pulse racing at the adrenaline of the circumstances. Four of the other inhabitants of the room groaned into consciousness, rubbing their eyes and yawning. It was easy to discern when they collectively realised the sixth member of the dorm was missing from his bed, duvet covers strewn half across the floor and half on the bed by the sudden stillness. Draco watched a suddenly awake Weasley leap out from his bed and scratched his itching arm, pushing hair off his face. The others sat up in bed, slower to stand.

“What’s he done _now_ ,” Weasley muttered under his breath as he scurried across the room to the door, and Draco thought absent-mindedly that he was doing little to negate his ‘Weasel’ nickname. Then the situation fully sunk in, and Draco was out of bed following the red-head.

The common room was lined with eighth years peering out of their dorms to see what had caused the disturbance, but most of them quickly turned back into their rooms upon seeing Harry Potter stood sheepishly over a collapsed candelabra. Draco rolled his eyes at the sight, ignoring his rush of relief in favour of sniggering from the doorway. Potter’s head turned up to the sound, and Draco’s grin slipped at the closed off and wary look on his face.

“It’s too early for your clumsiness, _Potter_ ,” he mumbled, hurt more than he would have expected, and turned away to return to bed.

He didn’t manage to sleep for a while afterwards, though faking it when Potter and the Weasel entered the dorm after a few minutes. It was only once he heard their breathing even out that he opened his eyes again, staring into the darkness. He wondered what had happened in the short time since he’d fallen asleep that might have made Potter change his opinion of him. Perhaps he’d reflected on Draco’s past and decided he wasn’t worth it, and the option caused a pain in his chest but he couldn’t exactly deny the truth of it.

When his eyes started to sting he got angry. This was stupid. Getting upset over a boy he’d supposedly hated for the past seven years giving him an unfriendly look. It was ridiculous, and stupid, and-and it was below him. He was better than that.

His last thought before sleep took him was that his mind and heart seemed to be in contention.

 

It quickly became obvious in the morning that he had overreacted. So the guy had given him a funny look – he’d survived worse. He put his reaction down to the surplus of emotion that came with having been woken up after an entirely too short period of rest. He resolutely did not show any sign of having been affected to the Gryffindors as he got himself ready for breakfast, giving them stiff nods if they caught his eye but nothing more. He refused to look at Potter, feeling eyes on him but fighting back the urge to turn and confront him, biting his lip to hold back the words on his tongue.

He left the dorm without saying a word, and didn’t think about the knot in his stomach.

 

“What,” he snapped at Pansy, who was looking at him with narrowed eyes from her armchair. She didn’t reply, eyes scanning him over. “Do I have something on my face?” he asked, knowing the answer was no.

“Something happened,” said Pansy finally, ignoring his question. “Last night, with the Gryffindors. I have a terrible feeling that a case of ‘one step forward, two steps back’ has occurred.” She took a sip of the firewhiskey Blaise had smuggled into the castle after the last Hogsmeade trip. “Spill it.”

“Nothing happened,” said Draco, eyes focusing on the fire. Pansy raised an eyebrow.

“Draco, you forget you cannot lie to me,” she pointed out, and he almost cracked a smile.

“It’s…” He sighed, swirling his own drink. “It’s really nothing. Well, it could be something, but I’m not sure yet. He just. Looked at me weird, like we’d regressed back to sixth year or something.”

“And since then…?” Pansy prompted, and Draco felt himself blush, hoping she’d put it down to the warmth from the fire.

“Since then I’ve avoided and ignored him.” He winced at Pansy groan of frustration.

“Draco,” she moaned, holding her head in her hand. “You just said it was probably nothing. It was a _look_. Maybe he was thinking about something else. Maybe it was a momentary thing.” She stopped, and then gave another annoyed sound. “I can’t believe you. A _look_ and it makes you give up all your plans, your _actually decent relationship_ with Potter. This is perhaps simultaneously the most and least Draco Malfoyish thing I’ve ever known you to do in your life.”

Draco snorted. “All right Pans, I’ve got to admit I’m confused as to how I’ve ever _not_ been myself. I think in general I’m quite ‘Draco Malfoyish’,” he said, leaning his right elbow onto his armrest and taking a sip of his drink. He was feeling comfortably warm, the fire and the whiskey leaving him blissfully oblivious to the chill.

“Let me put it this way. Draco Malfoy is afraid of looking bad. He holds his reputation in high regard and dislikes anything that threatens that. In that way, this is exactly like you – you’re scared things with Potter will take a turn for the worse and that you’ll end up looking bad, so you’re on the cusp of deciding to call it quits. On the other hand, the Draco Malfoy I know is brave and enduring, as much as he may want to hide such Gryffindor qualities.” She lent closer to him. “You endured so much these past few years, Draco. Not many people could do what you’ve done.”

“What, betray his school and headmaster to an evil monster?” he said bitterly, and Pansy rolled her eyes, placing her hand on his.

“No, doing what he has to in order to protect his family. Living through the mental strain of having said ‘evil monster’, a madman, living in your house and judging your every move and punishing misbehaviour with _torture_.” Pansy met his eyes, and Draco was almost overcome by the seriousness of her gaze. “Draco, you have survived so much. You are brave.”

Draco held her gaze a few moments longer until it became too much, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to fight back the lump rising in it.  She straightened up then, removing her hand from his. “Ah, anyway, got a bit off topic. Anyway, you’re brave, is the point, and so don’t wimp out over Potter. Embrace your inner Gryffindor,” she said brightly, giving him a thumbs up. Draco screwed up his face.

“Never say that again,” he said, and Pansy laughed. “No seriously, the idea of having any Gryffindor inside me is enough to make me vomit.”

Pansy stood. “Well, if you play your cards right with Potter, you might reconsider your stance on that,” she said, grinning and walking up to her dorm.

What she had said clicked a minute later, and Draco spluttered, chasing across the room to bang on her door. “Pansy! Pansy you tosser I can’t believe you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooo thank you for reading I hope you enjoyed it!!  
> If you notice any mistakes please tell me, and comments and kudos are very much appreciated!!


	19. Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's POV

When he caught sight of Malfoy joining the crowd of people gathered in the common room to witness his embarrassment, Harry felt his face drop. The nervous smile brought on by the thought of _Voldemort who? I’m much more likely to be killed now by a group of eighteen-year olds woken from their beauty sleep_ fell away as his eyes met Malfoy’s, and he couldn’t help the way his body tensed.

He flinched as Malfoy made to turn away, but not before he saw the hurt expression pass over the other boy’s face. Malfoy muttered something about him being clumsy and left, and Harry’s mind was torn between wariness and guilt.

The snake – it had to have something to do with Malfoy. It _had_ to. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the puddle of ink had followed a path to Harry’s own dorm on this specific day, it had to have something to do with Malfoy’s presence.

When he looked away from the door Malfoy had disappeared through, Ron was giving him an odd look. “Mate,” he said, quietly. “Why do you look like Malfoy tried to poison you or something?”

Harry scratched his head idly, and explained what he’d seen. By the end, Ron was frowning, perched on the arm of a sofa. “I mean, I can’t say it surprises me that Malfoy’s ‘up to something’ or whatever, but it’s strange, right? He seems genuinely interested in this snake, in a way that doesn’t really suggest he knows about it. It definitely went up to the dorm?” At Harry’s nod, Ron shrugged. “I dunno. Seems weird to me, but it _is_ Malfoy. I already know he’s a weirdo.”

Harry hummed noncommittally, feeling Ron’s stare on him. “I just- I just thought we were, you know, getting along. A bit. And if this were something he started before that, I would’ve hoped he’d have called it off or something, whatever _it_ is.”

Ron sighed. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this. Look, Harry, you’re not wrong. Yours and Malfoy’s relationship _has_ improved, and I think you need to consider the fact that whatever that snake – the animal, not Malfoy – is, it hasn’t actually done, well, anything. Even if it is to do with Malfoy, there’s really no guarantee that it’s malicious at all. I would say, and I hope you realise if you ever tell Hermione that she’s got to me this much you _will_ wake up to dicks drawn all over your face, to not dismiss Malfoy yet. You don’t know anything for sure yet.”

 Harry stared at him. “Did you-” he laughed in shock. “Did you just defend Malfoy?”

Ron picked up a copy of _Witch Weekly_ from an armchair and hit him with it. “Twat!” he grumbled. “It’s all ‘Mione’s fault. You know she actually called him ‘Draco’ the other day?”

“Maybe sometime soon we’ll _all_ be friends with Malfoy and even you’ll have to call him that,” Harry said, grinning, and Ron hit him again.

“That’ll never happen, I swear to _Merlin_ , Harry-”

 

In the morning, Malfoy refused to look at him before leaving the dorm. Harry swallowed down the sick feeling that brought on and resolved not to think about it, or about what he’d found out during the night.

In Charms, Malfoy wouldn’t look at him. Harry’s Cheering Charm (one charm of thirty-four they were revising that double-period) only turned Ron’s mouth down at the sides.

In Potions, Malfoy still wasn’t looking at him. By this point, it was what Harry was expecting, but that didn’t make him any happier about it. Ron’s almost perfect Cheering Charm had worn off in the hour they’d had free, and now he was having to deal with Slughorn’s annoyingly upbeat attitude.

“You’ll be glad to hear,” Slughorn started once they’d all settled onto their stools, “that the _Amortentia_ you’ve been attending will be ready shortly. In fact, for the majority, I’d think they’ll be ready by the time you’ve finished the task I’m setting today. Now, I’m aware that coming up is an event that might encourage some of you to try to steal these potions, so know in advance that this will not be tolerated. So, for today you’ll be working on- yes, Mr Finnegan?”

“What’s the event?” asked Seamus, sounding equal parts excited and apprehensive, which Harry thought was quite impressive. Slughorn winked.

“You’ll find out soon, if I’m not mistaken,” he replied, grinning. “Now, today you’ll be making the fearlessness potion, _Audentia_. The instructions are on the board, and today you’ll be working alone. Off you go!”

By the end of the lesson, Harry was sweating buckets. One of the ingredients of _Audentia_ was frog’s tongue, with the added extra of being from a magical species nicknamed ‘Jumping Tongue’, for reasons that immediately became clear once the first was taken out of it’s jar. Needless to say, most of the hour was spent chasing after frog’s tongues, only to find once one had been retrieved that the rest had escaped again. He’d forgotten all about the love potions until he’d finished clearing away and Slughorn had levitated his onto his desk, doing the same to all that had finished brewing.

“Now, the easiest way to see if they’ve been properly prepared, of course, is to see if we can smell the things we love in them. So, have a whiff, and I’ll come around one by one to check them,” Slughorn announced.

Harry leant forward and sniffed, and immediately groaned. Though the smell of treacle tart he remembered from the last time Slughorn had had them smell the potion was still there, it was faint, and he there wasn’t anything else alongside it. He’d gone wrong somewhere.

When Slughorn came to him, he gave him a pitying look. “Very close, Harry, just a few too many drops of tea tree oil at the last stage, I believe,” he smiled, then. “But not to worry! It’ll still give you high marks. Congratulations!” With that he levitated away the potion into his cupboard and moved onto the next person.

Harry grinned at Hermione’s full marks and laughed at Seamus’ surprised face when his went decently. When he turned back to the front of the classroom to pick up his things, his stomach lurched as he met Malfoy’s eye.

The other boy looked a mixture of angry and embarrassed, face flushed red. As soon as their eyes met, Malfoy looked away, storming out the room.

Harry sighed and wondered what he’d done this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading hope you enjoyed it!!
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, and please tell me if you notice any mistakes!!


	20. Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo so we've got some mature content here.

Until that very moment, Draco hadn’t even realised he _knew_ what Harry Potter smelt like. And yet, as soon as he bent his head over his _Amortentia_ and took a sniff, the first word that came to his mind was _Potter_. It was only a moment later he was able to distinguish the scent as a mixture of broom oil and aftershave.

His cock, too, seemed to recognise the scent, and to his horror he felt it stir. As much as he might try to blame it on the other smells wafting from the potion, there was really little chance of him persuading himself he’d get the beginnings of a hard on from the smelling the attic of Malfoy Manor or the fabric softener the house elves at home always used. He felt himself blush in embarrassment, feeling confined by the suddenly close seeming proximity to Potter, even across the room from him, like maybe he knew, like when Potter laughed now along with Finnegan it was him he was laughing at.

And then he was angry. Angry and embarrassed, and Slughorn still hadn’t reached him yet but he couldn’t wait in that room anymore, he had to get away. So sending Potter a glare he stomped out of the room, ignoring Slughorn’s calls for him to return. He knew he’d made the potion perfectly anyway, there was little point in him staying to have it reaffirmed and dangled in his face that yes, he, Draco Malfoy, was well on the way to feeling something a little bigger than a crush for Harry Potter.

He didn’t stop until he reached his dorm. It was perfect. Just sodding _perfect_. And at such a great time for the realisation to occur, too, just when Potter seemed to have remembered he hated him.

Draco was not crying. Definitely not, but he still felt the need to hide in the showers when he heard footsteps coming towards the dorm – it was completely unrelated. But nevertheless he found himself under the spray of warm water, soothing warmth that gradually replaced the wetness on his cheeks.

 _How did this happen?_ he asked himself silently as the water ran down him. _It was just a stupid crush. It was_ always _just a crush._

And now it wasn’t.

Salazar, he wanted Potter. He wanted him to want him, too. Merlin save him, he wanted to _be_ with him. All at once the memory of the dizzying smell of _Potter_ from his potion came back to him, and he groaned as his cock, having wilted in his embarrassment, woke up again. Here, alone in the shower, he decided that maybe just this once he could humour himself. Imagine, perhaps, that Potter really did want him too. And so his hand slipped down his chest, then his stomach, and then wrapped around his cock.

Potter would be gentle, he thought. Slow, probably, out of inexperience, and hesitant. But he’d take up that Gryffindor courage and he’d approach, reach out and touch the canvas of skin in front of him. Draco mimicked it with soft brushes of his fingertips across his skin and moaned, letting his hand squeeze around his cock.

His confidence would grow. The more he touched, the harder he would press, the more he would explore. He’d touch his cock, and Draco would shudder at the foreign feeling of someone else’s hand. Seeing how affected Draco was, he’d get rougher, tugging and biting and crashing his lips to Draco’s in blatant desire. Draco’s breath hitched as his hands flew over his cock, tension building throughout his body.

He’d ask him to call him Harry, and Draco would do it. He’d repeat his name like a mantra, whispered into skin, then drag him in for another kiss. And Harry would whisper back, _Draco_ , and-

Draco came, whimpering into his fist and watching the evidence get washed away. He breathed heavily into his hand, screwing his eyes up tight as he felt the return of bitter disappointment. Harry wasn’t here. _Harry_ was actually _Potter_ , and just when they were making steps towards friendship, everything was going south, and now Draco seemed to be in deeper than he’d ever imagined.

He slumped down to sit in the spray of the water and buried his face in his curled-up knees.

 

He ignored his friends throughout dinner, and soon they gave up trying to talk to him, realising he needed some time alone. He was sure, however, that they’d try again later.

His chest had hurt the moment he’d looked up to see Potter at his table, and he’d managed to keep himself from doing so again. Instead he kept his head down and ate, picking up his things and leaving as soon as he was done. This time, when he arrived at his dorm he locked the door behind himself, and sat on his bed, staring into space. When he heard the others try the door a half an hour later, he waited for them to unlock it before immediately relocking it. He repeated it again and again, despite himself finding small amusement in it. They thumped on the door and told him to let them in, but at no response they died down for a bit.

Then Pansy’s voice rose up on the other side. “Draco? Can I come in?” she asked, voice gentle, and Draco didn’t have the heart to refuse. He unlocked the door and it swung open. Pansy closed it behind her.

Her face, apprehensive when she walked in, crumpled at the sight of him. Salazar, he must’ve looked bad for that reaction.

“Oh Draco,” she sighed, walking over and hugging him into her and carding fingers through his hair. “What’s wrong?”

For a few moments, Draco didn’t reply.

Then, “I hate Potter,” he mumbled, falling asleep in her lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got quite a lot more dramatic than I expected. Thoughts?


	21. Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's POV

Dinner had finished with the revelation of exactly what Slughorn had been hinting at in their Potions class. The headmistress had stood and gestured for silence, before announcing a never-before held event to take place just before Easter, and therefore the main period of exam revision: a Spring Ball, available for all years, to come with or without a partner but with the aim of having fun and promoting inter-house unity (Harry wondered if every event to take part in the next few years would have that tagged on the end, regardless of whether any actual unifying took place).

Nevertheless, as they walked out of the Great Hall excited discussions were already taking place over who would take whom and what they would wear. Harry heard one girl worry that she knew for _certain_ that the Weird Sisters had already been booked elsewhere on that date, agonising over who would be doing the music. “If it’s the Strangling Monks, I’m boycotting,” she said firmly, and her friend agreed with a nod and a pinky promise.

Ron and Hermione had turned to each other, smiled, and agreed they were going together. At least there’d be no drama _there_ this time. As for Harry, he had decided the best course of action was to delay thinking about it for as long as possible. Perhaps he’d go alone this time to avoid a spectacle – Godric knew there had already been enough looks in his direction since the announcement.

And, well, who he might _want_ to take, was unlikely to be agreeable, and furthermore was very possibly cooking up some nefarious plot against him concerning snakes watching him sleep.

Seeing as Ron and Hermione appeared to be too wrapped up in each other at the idea of redeeming the experience of their last ball, Harry figured it was his duty to keep Molly informed and made his way up to the owlery. He sat on a windowsill and composed his letter, making sure to include the reassurance that Ron hadn’t messed up his relationship, hadn’t received any detentions recently and that the only reason he hadn’t sent her a letter was sheer forgetfulness. He sent the letter off with one of the school birds, feeling a pang as he always did at the thought of Hedwig, and set off back through the castle. He was just starting off up the stairs, when-

“Oh,” he said, staring down at the snake slithering towards him down the steps in front of him. Those silver eyes stared back as it came to a halt a few feet in front of him, tongue flicking, and then it continued forward until it was closer than it ever had been save for when it had bitten him.

And then it slithered _onto_ him.

Harry almost stumbled in surprise. The snake moved onto his leg and up and round, hissing. Harry tried not to hyperventilate, wishing there was someone around. “Er,” he said nervously as he felt it continue up his leg. “Please don’t bite me again?”

He received a loud hiss for his efforts, which he could feel vibrating against his thigh, and whimpered. It continued, up and up and up, until it came to his right shoulder, wrapping around his upper arm loosely beneath his robes with its head beside his. It stilled.

“So you’re staying there, are you?” Harry asked after a minute of it remaining firmly in place. “That’s, that’s just what I need,” he said, exasperated. “All right, I’ll go along with it. Let’s go.”

 

By the time he reached the common room, Harry was quite frankly annoyed at the constant hissing in his ear. Venomous or not, the bite the snake had given him before had _hurt_ , and it was putting him on edge having a constant reminder of its presence so close.

Passing through the portrait into the common room, Harry was greeted by the sight of Zabini, Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein pacing the room in annoyance whilst Terry hammered on the door to their dorm. At that moment the door swung open, and Terry’s “ _Finally_ ,” was cut off by a silencing spell being sent at him. Terry glared at someone in the room but just trudged in, followed by the other boys.

 _That was Malfoy’s room_ , Harry realised absent-mindedly a few moments later as he set foot in his own dorm. He shrugged – it was probably a prank or something. Only Seamus was in their dorm, so he gave him a grin, picked up his books and made to leave for the library before remembering the snake. It may not be venomous, but it certainly did bite, and it seemed like inviting trouble by taking it into a populated area. Harry sighed and settled down on his bed, copying down notes from Transfiguration and trying to work out an introduction for his essay. It was probably for the best – with the mood Ron and Hermione were in, they were probably snogging in the stacks.

He pulled a face at the thought.

As it got later and the residents began filing into the dorm, Harry got dressed and ready for bed, hiding his arm in embarrassment as he did so. He lay down on his left side so as to not crush the snake, and tried hard to sleep with little success given the hissing in his ear. He contemplated going outside and pushing something over in the common room to test his theory about Malfoy’s involvement in Harry’s snake problem, but figured the rest of the year would do what Voldemort had not managed if he woke them up for a second night in a row. When he eventually fell asleep out of pure exhaustion it was almost four in the morning, and upon waking at eight the snake had gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short I'm sorry, but I hope it was still okay 
> 
> Please tell me if you spot any mistakes, feedback is always appreciated!!! xx


	22. Twenty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's POV!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda some stuff that could be a bit triggering for people with depression? If that's you you might want to skip until the Hogsmeade trip. Nothing much really happens before then except Draco finds out about the Spring Ball :)
> 
> Also a bit of swearing at the end of the chapter.

Draco hadn’t felt this low in a while. His dreams were filled with Potter – unsurprisingly – but they were muddled and moving, choppy where the previous ones were still. He couldn’t keep it all straight in his head, and unlike the others a lot of the details were hazy, which he blamed on exhaustion whilst simultaneously trying to ignore the cause of it. The explanation of the upcoming Spring Ball from Pansy hadn’t made things any better, the thought of watching Potter spinning some girl around the Great Hall making his heart hurt in a way he refused to admit to anybody.

For him, unhappiness was like being in the presence of a Dementor. As soon as one thing went wrong, everything else that had done so or even could do so came flooding to mind, drowning him in a layer of depression. He would think about his father, about how in those few weeks after the Final Battle at Hogwarts before he had been sentenced he had been changed – calm in the face of the inevitable, wanting nothing more to spend the rest of his time as a free man with Draco and his mother. He was an unfamiliar figure then, without the harsh words and treatments from his childhood, a weight lifted from Draco’s back – but now, the thought of that man rotting away in prison made Draco feel sad in a way he never had before thinking of his father. He deserved it, certainly, for what he had done – but he was his father, and in those last weeks he’d proved that more than he had in the rest of Draco’s life.

Compared to the depression Lucius must have been going through in Azkaban faced with real Dementors, and the loneliness his mother must feel stuck in the Manor with no company but the elves, Draco’s heartsickness seemed pathetic.

It didn’t feel pathetic. It just felt real.

Draco didn’t go to his classes that day, choosing instead to remain curled up in his sheets staring into space. At one point he thought of writing to his mother, to ease some of that loneliness, but then remembered the date: the 1st of February, the day Narcissa had arranged to have the Weasley parents over.

Perhaps his mother wasn’t as lonely as he thought anymore. He could smile at that, a bit, if he pushed down the selfish bitterness at the ease with which she could make friends.

He grunted greetings to his dormmates when they returned, otherwise ignoring everyone for the rest of the evening and falling asleep close to two o’clock. When he woke up the next morning he felt marginally better, agreeing – to Pansy’s surprise – to join the others on their trip to Hogsmeade, knowing that exercise would help to make him feel less groggy if nothing else.

As they walked, various groups of students trekking along around them, the general feeling of excitement only exacerbated by the first few flakes of snow. It hadn’t settled yet, but the conditions were perfect for it to do so. Greg had invited Lydia, and they were stood to the side giggling – Draco had never seen someone as bulky and big as Greg do something that could be classified as ‘giggling’ before, but there was a slightly surreal charm to it, even if the underlying knowledge that Greg was doing better in his love life than Draco was somewhat agonising. Pansy and Theo stood at the front of their group, discussing their most recent project for Transfiguration.

For a while, Draco and Blaise had been walking in silence, something that was normal and yet felt awkward that morning. After a distance, Blaise sighed.

“Listen, Draco,” he started, and Draco’s heart started beating faster at how much he did not want to have this conversation – it had to be to do with the last couple of days, after all. Blaise gave a small laugh at his stance. “ _Relax_ , Draco, I’m not about to interrogate you.” Draco didn’t reply, so he continued. “I just wanted to say – I know we tease you a lot, about y’know, Potter and all, but-” he broke off, tutting slightly. “Ugh, feelings. Right, I know we do that, but I just want to say we’re all here if you want to talk. About anything, okay?” He glared at Draco, as if daring him to make him say it again.

Draco laughed, quietly, chest suddenly feeling clearer. “I get it. Thanks, Blaise,” he said, smiling properly for the first time in days.

Blaise looked ruffled. “Well. Good.” He kicked at the ground a bit as they walked.

“Did you see the Puddlemere game last weekend?” Draco asked, prompting a new discussion. Blaise blinked at him.

“Wha- Oh. Oh yeah, Lexley’s really upped his game, right? Incredible goal at the end.”

They dissolved into quidditch talk before reaching the village. Pansy dragged them round Tomes and Scrolls for the newest book in her favourite author’s series; Theo needed a new polish for his wand from the branch of Ollivander’s, and Blaise wanted to check out the new apothecary at the end of the street. Greg and Lydia had quickly branched off from the rest of them to spend the time in Madam Puddifoot’s.

“Anything you need, Draco?” Theo asked, and Draco shrugged.

“A Butterbeer?” he suggested, and the others grinned.

“Come on, let’s get to the Three Broomsticks.”

 

“All I’m saying is, we buy some bottles of Firewhiskey, sneak them up into the castle, make a night of it, you know?” Blaise was saying, gesturing wildly.

“And all _I’m_ saying is it’s all right for _some_ who don’t have a two-foot long essay to complete for Monday, but _I_ am not chancing a hangover,” Pansy argued back.

“And I’m saying- oh no. Draco don’t turn around.”

Which of course, meant Draco turned around. Perhaps predictably, Draco found himself staring at a laughing Harry Potter, dusting of snow from unruly hair and pushing Weasley’s shoulder in play fight. Draco’s stomach dropped.

“Oh fuck,” whispered Draco. He really wasn’t ready for this, not for this to be the first sight he got of Potter after his revelation in Potions, because, well…

He looked hot. _Really_ hot.

“Yeah, kinda feeling you there Draco,” said Blaise, and Draco felt Pansy’s leg move under the table to kick him in the shin. “Ow! What? I’m not allowed to admire now? Carefree’s a good look on him, what can I say?”

It really was. The smile, the body language – it was confident. And that _did things_ to Draco. For Draco. His hair was as long and wild as ever, and Draco was shocked by how overpowering the desire to _pull_ it was. His mind was quickly travelling in directions unsuitable for a public place. The he narrowed his eyes. There was something else, something different… His eyes widened.

“His glasses,” Draco said suddenly, seeing Blaise sit up straighter in his chair immediately, feeling glad they were half hidden by one of Rosmerta’s house-plants.

“Holy shit, you’re right. Fuck me,” Blaise said, and Pansy groaned.

“Yes boys, Potter looks very hot in his new glasses. Can you stop staring at him so obviously, now?” she pleaded, and Blaise waved her away.

“They can’t see us here, we’re fine,” he said, but Draco had turned back anyway, feeling himself blushing.

“Why now?” he bemoaned, slamming his head down on the table and mentally thanking Pansy for her well-timed softening charm.

Pansy shrugged. “It’s probably a sign,” she said, and Draco looked at her quizzically.

“For what?” he wanted to know, and then felt a worrying sense of foreboding and the grins she and Theo shared.

“The universe wants you to woo Potter and take him to the Ball, _obviously_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo hope you enjoyed!! Sorry this is so late, exams are over now so yayyyyyyyyyy!!
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, and if you spot any mistakes please tell me!!!
> 
>  
> 
> Ooooooh also thank you so much for over 400 kudos!!! You're all fab!!!!


	23. Twenty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's POV

Harry was hiding. Unashamed to admit it, too, as he suspected that anyone put into his position would be driven to do the same.

He spent the entire day after the announcement of the ball bringing his invisibility cloak to every lesson and throwing it over himself before he left a classroom after the disaster of breakfast that morning. In the beginning, the couple of girls who came over to him to ask him to the Ball were bearable, if a bit annoying, but as soon as he’d gone for a piece of toast passed down to him and Hermione had grabbed his arm, hissing “Don’t touch that!” at him all of a sudden, things had gone south.

Love potions were officially the bane of Harry’s life. The girl who’d tried at breakfast had been given detention for a week by Professor McGonagall, but upon her being caught between them Harry and Hermione had caught sight of multiple other students stowing away vials. They’d shared a look and Harry had announced loudly that he wasn’t hungry anymore, standing and leaving, only disturbed a couple of times on the way out by keen admirers asking him out – including, rather horrifyingly, a Gryffindor Third-Year. For the rest of the day he’d attended classes, passed through the corridors unseen, and had food delivered from Hermione and Ron straight from the kitchen. Now, he sat far into the stacks of the library, in a corner so remote it wasn’t even used for snogging. His invisibility cloak lay on the chair beside him in case anyone happened to come along, but for now the only other person around was Ginny, writing her DADA essay on the other side of the table, five reference books stacked up beside her. Occasionally she’d ask Harry a question, but for the most part it was calm, for which Harry was eternally grateful.

Harry himself was drawing aimlessly. He wasn’t any good, but he was quickly learning this year that on Hermione’s schedule for revision if you didn’t distract yourself with something calming for a while your brain would explode. Unsurprisingly, given his current preoccupation, doodles of snakes lined the parchment, flickering tongues dancing with an OWL standard charm added to the ink. Ginny had rolled her eyes at them, but Harry had just shrugged sheepishly in return, shading in their eyes to mimic the snake’s silvery ones.

It was sat there, staring at the page, that he made the connection. “Shit,” he said suddenly, and Ginny’s head whipped up.

“What is it?” she asked, and Harry could, to his embarrassment, feel his face growing hotter.

“Uh, well,” he started, “shit.”

Ginny stared at him. “Eloquently put. Care to elaborate?”

“Uh, probably shouldn’t say much,” _owing to risk of sounding obsessed_ , “but Malfoy is almost definitely up to something. Stay safe, Gin,” he said, hurrying to gather up his stuff, throwing on his invisibility cloak and walking away from the table.

Back in the common room, he found Dean and Neville playing chess in the corner, watched over and commentated by Ron, who was critiquing every move taken in a horrified tone.

“Nev mate, what are you even- No! Did you even _look_ before you moved that? See! Now you have no Queen. Merlin.”

Harry laughed, and Ron whipped round at the sound. “Leave them to it, Ron, they can learn by themselves,” he said.

“Says you,” Ron mutters, and grins when Harry punches his arm. “All right, all right. What are you up to?”

Harry considered for a moment. “Want to go for a walk?” he asked, and Ron nodded, waving bye to Dean and Neville with threats that they had better be doing better when he got back ‘or else’.

(“Or else what?” Dean shouted back, grinning, and Ron just waved a fist, following Harry – or at least the sound of his footsteps – out of the portrait.

“Ooh,” said Neville. “Threatening.”)

“Is this about Malfoy again?” Ron asked as they made their way out onto the grounds. Harry pulled a face.

“Yeah, it is,” he said, surprised when Ron just looked on expectantly. “It’ll sound a bit weird.”

Ron laughed. “I’m used to that, mate,” he reminded him, and Harry smiled.

“That’s true I guess.” They walked on farther and started a lap around the Lake. “They have the same eyes.”

Ron blinked at him. “The same eyes? Malfoy and…?”

“The snake. They’re the same colour, the same,” he blushed, “intensity. I know it sounds weird-”

Ron shook his head. “No, I, uh, I believe you. But as a matter of interest,” he sent Harry a shit-eating grin, “how well exactly _do_ you know Malfoy’s eyes?” he asked, quickly dodging out of the way of Harry’s Tickling Charm.

Harry groaned. “You know what’s happening, don’t you?”

Ron was quiet for a moment, the sound of the Giant Squid splashing some Hufflepuff Sixth Years on the other side of the Lake suddenly louder. “I’m not gonna pretend I understand. It’s Malfoy, y’know? He’s a git at best, and he’s done us more than a bit of harm over the years.” He paused, sitting down at the side of the Lake and taking off his shoes. Harry followed suit. “But he _is_ changing. I don’t feel the need to fight him on sight now, so I guess that’s a plus. And I’ll give it to you that he’s attractive.”

Harry’s face was as red as it could get, and he was glad nobody could see him. “Er, yeah, he is,” he agreed uncomfortably.

“I don’t understand you having feelings for him after what he’s done to you, and me, and Hermione and Godric knows who else. But I’m not gonna get in your way, y’know? If it makes you happy it makes you happy.”

Harry cleared his throat. “Thanks, Ron,” he said. “And, er, the snake?”

Ron shrugged. “He’s obviously connected, but as I said before, we don’t even know what it is. Could be harmless. No point in worrying about it now.”

Harry was about to agree when a flood of water drenched them, the Giant Squid already swimming away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy sorry I'm a bit late have been distracted by some Merthur projects :) Hope you enjoyed this, please leave feedback and point out any mistakes!!
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


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